Call of Duty: Modern Messes - Xandoria_Duurden (2024)

Chapter 1: 1942

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1942, August 10th: Martin was exhausted. It had been nothing but drills all day, every day since he got here. He knew why: they were all volunteers. His omega was back home, probably more worried than he was, considering she didn’t know where he was and he knew he was safe in these drills (so long as he wasn’t stupid). They’d all been put on rut blocker. It was dangerous to go into one when there was a war like this going on. But they weren’t well tested and they had no idea what the side effects would be. Well, so long as he didn’t die, he had no complaints. They already had 4 kids…
1942, August 17th: He was Charles Miller, but he didn’t like either name. It was complicated. They had been captured, tortured. He could barely think as the Japanese beta came for his throat with a knife-only for Roebuck to stab him first. “Miller, you’re okay, thank f*ck. We’ll make them pay for what they did.” He took the pistol, half-delirious from pain, but functional enough. He moved quickly and in sync with his squad: they’d been doing this for months. He didn’t speak: he’d bitten his tongue so hard it couldn’t move to stop himself from spilling the beans, and they got out.
1942, September 17th: Dimitri tried not to breathe as they executed anyone they saw moving even slightly. He joined the sniper, obeying the quiet commands as he tried to keep his hands from shaking. They had shot the man’s hands: he’d never be able to snipe again: he’d be lucky to hold a pen. So Dimitri took over it for him, silencing his fear even as it suffocated him. He would protect his motherland-he yelped as his hands got scorched, the sniper yanking him out of the window where they met up with another squad. So he became a sniper in the moment, fighting through the agony of every trigger pull. He would protect his home. His love. Even if it was forbidden for an alpha to love another alpha, he would not change their union for anything. Natasha, his darling, he would come back alive.
1942, September 18th: He wasn’t afraid to die. He was afraid to be considered a coward. So he moved forward even without a gun. He would take back Stalingrad, no matter what the cost. It was madness, and he was only surviving because an experienced man took pity on his terror. “Stand strong, comrade!”
“Da.” They kept moving forward. “Alexei.”
“Makarov! Keep moving!” He scrambled to pick up a rifle he barely knew how to use. The same man named Makarov stayed with him, shouting instructions, and keeping him calm. And Makarov got him into an actual squadron for his ‘control under pressure’. In reality, he was no better than a rat scrambling away from a cat, but he would serve his country, no matter the cost. So he kept fighting for his country. After all, if he ran, he would be killed and considered a coward for all his family’s history. His son was already cursed to be an omega: he would not allow the curse of cowardice fall upon him, too.
1942, November 9th: Alexei was promoted to sniper and told to investigate a sniping position. He had grown used to this fate: at least he was not a coward. His son would be told to be proud of his father for being a good Soviet soldier, even if he did die, and Russia did not have those horrible omega houses for his son to live in. Yes, so long as he was careful, his son would not have a terrible fate.

Chapter 2: 1944

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1944, June 5: Martin was in France now, in some Saint place he couldn’t pronounce. Why did the French like such fancy words, anyways? It was almost midnight. He wondered how she was doing. If he made it back, he’d go through the courts, get a ring on her. Sure, they were mate bonded, so it wasn’t technically needed, but…it felt right. He missed her bad. The war itself was a mess of confusion. He had no clue what was happening or where he was supposed to be other than Utah Beach and he was in Saint whatever with Baker Company, not his actual unit. Oh, well. He could still fight with them against Germany.

****

1944, June 6: They had seized the town from Germany, and now they had to hold it down from counterattacks, without a radio or actual defensive networks. Sorry, Penny. Martin wasn’t sure he’d actually make it out of this one, but he’d try his hardest to come back to you. They came in with tanks, so Martin went at the tanks with a rocket as the Baker’s drew their fire. He fought viciously. He wanted to go home unharmed to his little Penny, and he wanted to protect his country, both things that triggered his more animal instincts, even as the bullets made him want to crawl into a hole and hide forever. They attained a car, and they said they’d get him to his squad. He was glad for it: anything for a break away from the mortars and tanks. It was sheer chaos, the soldier driving was a madman but he was getting them clear, and Martin wanted nothing more than to hug Penny and hold her until this nightmare was over. Then the car crashed about 4 miles out, and he was half-blind panicking as Elder grabbed a new car and they bolted again with Elder behind the wheel this time. They got to Shepard easy enough. Shepard had an omega, too: they were back home pregnant. He was quite proud of his person: Martin was pretty sure their name was Sticks. They weren’t heading back to his squad: he got voluntold to go clear out a German artillery base with Elder, Foley, and Moody. Foley apologized. “Sorry, pal. You’re stuck with us.”
“That’s okay. I’ll watch your six if you watch mine.” Foley slapped his back and they headed out back into chaos. Their medic Irwin panicked and got shot in the skull. There was no time to mourn: they had to move, blow up the artillery and keep going. He hoped Penny was safe and waiting for him. People were dying. He was killing people. It was hell, but it was necessary. He wasn’t sure who was alive and who was dead, but he had orders so he followed them. They got out, and he curled into himself and sobbed, someone patting his shoulder. “You did good, soldier. You did good.”
***

Evans jerked awake, everything aching. “Glad you’re still with us, mate. Let’s go and suppress that bunker, aye?” Evans nodded to Price. He was methodical and practiced. He’d done this plenty of times before. Hell, his omega left him because he couldn’t STOP doing this. Stupid Ben. Evans shook his ex from his mind and kept at his job. Evans liked Price: he was calm and controlled, even with his weird scent of moss blending in with everything else. He’d never met another alpha with the scent of MOSS before: must be a family thing. They held out until the 7th arrived, and they got out easily enough. *** 1944, August 7th: They were going into Germany to get some guys named Captain Price and Major Ingram of Britain out. Martin didn’t know who they were, but if Army Intel wanted them out, they had to be important. He was more controlled this time: he knew what to expect for the most part. Bullets, blood, and death. Penny had written him: she was safe and secure. Turns out she had given birth, too: he would have another 2 kids to care for once he got back. He wasn’t complaining: Penny always wanted a big family. Her sister was staying with her: she was fine. So he would be, too. Get Price and Ingram, get out-
“Goodness me, Americans!” He blinked at the rather young man with a great mustache. “Made quite a racket, didn’t you? I’m alright: I can still walk. They moved Ingram to a camp: don’t worry, I know where.” He had a mating bond on his neck in clear view, and gestured to Martin’s own. “How long?”
“6 years, sir.”
“Ah, it’s been 3 months for me. Let’s get back to them, aye?”
***

1944, September 2nd: They were sent to blow a dam: Evans had gotten transferred to Captain Price’s squad since Price liked him plenty. The dam was heavily fortified, just how he liked it. Hard mission, good reward. He went into the power generator first, clearing the way for the others methodically. He opened his radio.
“Sir, do you speak German?”
“Aye, I do. Nothing pretty about what they’re saying: I’m listening.”
“Copy.” He kept moving, blowing the dam, and meeting up with the others. Price was driving fast, but levelheadedly. Was he ever fazed? They got to the airstrip, and Evans was covering fire as they were trying to board.
“Get on the plane, Evans!” He obeyed instantly to the barked command.
***

1944, September 15th: Miller was used to this chaos. He’d been doing it his whole life, since he was 18. His dad had done it in the war before, and his mom was a beta nurse in the same unit. It was in his blood. He was calm but hurried. There wasn’t enough time to consider options: it was all instinct and action as soon as you hit the target area. It was better to not think, because if you thought, you realized what you were doing and you couldn’t afford to freeze up. Sullivan died. It shook Miller up, but he didn’t have a choice but to push through the swamp with the survivors of his unit to flank them. They were ambushed after ambushed: this was the Japanese territory, after all. Miller just couldn’t believe they let betas into their military. Trying to picture his mom in this kind of field was impossible, and made it harder to fight: he stopped that thought process fast. Miller resettled the flamethrower onto his body, and followed his commander. Flamethrowers were not his preference, but it was the fastest way to address the infestation of Japanese everywhere. Besides, he was the most precise man with the flamethrower, hence why he got put in charge with it.
***

1944, September 16th: Miller was going into the tunnels now: to clear the route for air support and reinforcements. He was a natural born tunnel rat, and damn proud of it. It’s why he was gifted with flamethrowers, hand to hand, and pistols. Sure, he could do the rest, but tunnels were where he excelled. They reclaimed it soon enough, and Miller was glad for it.
1944, September 18: They moved Ingram to a nearby camp: Price was told to stay behind due to a bullet wound in his thigh he had gotten during another mission and needed desperate treatment. They were going to knock on the front door, grab him, and hightail it out in 10 minutes, or else. Martin didn’t want to imagine what the ‘else’ entailed. They were quick and efficient even in the chaos: they found him in the prison. “Yanks? There’s a spot of luck. Come to collect me, have you?” Was he Scottish? “Lead on: no time for hellos!” They were in and out in 6 minutes total, and Martin was sent home: he didn’t argue and went to hug Penny as he was still alive and well.
***

1944, October 27: Price, Evans, and Waters were going to destroy a ship. Waters was staying on the exfil boat: Price was confident and in control the entire way. “Unless your German’s gotten better, stay quiet.” Price spoke it fluently, but Evans had no idea what he said to get them on board. They got deeper inside, and Price killed two Germans, starting the real mission to blow the ship sky-high. Evans got out, and Waters started to pull away-Price jumped ship, right next to them.
“Bloody hell, gents, couldn’t wait 10 seconds?!” He said tauntingly, laughing as Evans and Waters pulled him up.

Chapter 3: 1945

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1945, January 15^th: Martin had been called back. He wasn’t very happy about it: the war was almost over, so he would join back up to push it to be over faster, but he was only here because of Penny. Penny had encouraged him, now working as a seamstress of uniforms to help the warfront as best an omega could. “I can watch the kids; you go serve our country. Don’t worry about us: go be a hero.” So he had at her pushing. And they finished their mission, and he went back home. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be a next war. He just wanted to stay home.

1945, January 17^th: Alexei been promoted to full Sargeant, and they were going through Warsaw now. He still had no concept of what to do: he was just very good at faking it. His son would be 15 now. He hoped he could be home to celebrate him turning 16. His little boy, his little Yuri…

1945, January 26^th: Alexei had been pulled from his unit again to enter the tanker unit. Like he had any idea how to run a tank, and they didn’t give him enough warning to figure it out beforehand. And his tanker ‘crew’ had never been in a tank, either, except for the gunner, which was no small miracle. “Anyone have a mate back home?” One called, trying to lighten the mood. The gunner said flatly,

“She died in the invasion.”

“Yes: of 5 years. No pups yet, though: the war and all.” The sheller called.

“She died before the war, but I have a son. Yuri.” Alexei answered between orders.

“Is he proud?”

“I have not seen him in 4 years, but I hope so.” The gunner stated,

“He will be. You are a good soldier and a good man.” Alexei didn’t reply. Nothing about this signaled ‘good man’ to him. He just was following orders.

1945, February 2^nd: Evans was with Waters since that mission. Price had gone home thanks to a bum leg: he couldn’t serve from anywhere but behind a desk now. So he did: he’d been switched to desk jockey and while he missed the action, he was still serving his country. Evans was picking up the slack with Waters’ help. They finished their job, and headed back to base for the next one.

1945, April 3^rd: Miller was with the Black Cats with Roebuck. This war was messy: he couldn’t recall what their mission was anymore other than ‘kill the Japanese’. Not that it amounted to much else in the moment.

1945, April 16^th: Dimitri took to the tank unnaturally badly. Reznov was all that kept him from being obliterated. Though, it could have been the other thing that was distracting him. They had killed Natasha in front of him as a prisoner of war, and he could not even mourn for fear of death from his own people. So he pushed her from his mind as best he could, trying to focus on the horrors in front of him, not from two days ago. Reznov was proud of him: if he knew his heart, he would not be.

1945, April 18^th: Dimitri was tired, almost captured by enemies when Reznov pulled up him with those trembling hands covered in burns. They matched now, he thought in bemusem*nt. He didn’t care about the enemies. They had taken everything. He hated them all: Russians, Germans, even the westerners, where you could love as you wished without fear of death…he had no love left in his heart for anyone, but he followed his countrymen. For if he didn’t, he would die, and Natasha would never forgive him for joining her so soon.

1945, April 23^rd: Dimitri fought like a man possessed. Like a demon, he tore any German he saw apart, with bullet, fire, tooth, nail, knife, and grenade; he fought every soldier he saw. His mind was slipping, and he found no reason to fight it. He just wanted Natasha. He wanted her HERE, with him. Not dead and buried in a mass grave for him to never see again. Eventually the guns were forgotten: it was not enough blood. Not enough pain. He wanted them to suffer for what they had done to her. Reznov forced him back to consciousness that he didn’t want. “There will be time enough for that kind of combat, my friend!” He didn’t want to fight anymore. He just wanted to stop. But he nodded nonetheless.

1945, April 24^th: Dimitri didn’t know where he was. All he knew was his hands were coated with blood, his breath shaking, and face broken in places he didn’t know existed. And he knew Reznov was laughing ‘with him’, congratulating him on the bloodshed. He wanted to go back. Back to where he didn’t have to think. Please, let him stop, Reznov.

1945, April 30^th: Dimitri knew something was wrong now. His mind didn’t want to stay. He didn’t want his mind to stay. and Reznov did nothing to help him. If anything, he encouraged his mind to fade. When he woke the next time, he was coated in blood, Reznov slapping his back and congratulating him. They had won: captured whatever city they had gone into. “We have done it, my friend! Russia has won against the German rats!” Dimitri nodded dimly, fiddling with his pistol. “Dimitri, it is cause for celebration! We are heroes!” Dimitri shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Reznov. I have nothing left. I’m going to see Natasha.” He shot himself in the skull as tears poured down his cheeks.

Alexei was to escort a flagbearer to an enemy claimed base in the enemy capital. Everything in him screamed this was a terrible idea, but he was a good Soviet soldier, so he followed orders. When they put that flag up, he was told he could go home. He just wanted to make sure Yuri was alright.

1945, May 5^th: Alexei couldn’t find his son. He’d been taken somewhere, his little Yuri. He blamed himself. Why couldn’t he have produced an alpha? He bit back a sob and went back into the military. Where else was he to go?

1945, May 14^th: Miller was tired of the muck. He wanted an actual shower, not a quick rinse in the river. He was tired of this war, of the blood and violence. Why couldn’t they just go home now? Not that he had someone to go home TO, but he still wanted to go home. And Roebuck gave him an answer of when. After they took Shuri Castle, they would go home.

1945, May 29^th: Miller was more driven now. He wanted to go home, to see his mom and dad again, and this was all that was standing between him and home. Shuri Castle. It was a mess of ruins and bodies, warm and cold. But they did it, and he could go home…

1945, October 29: Reznov nodded to Alexei. The sad man dearly missed his son, taken to the omega trade: he had rejoined the army to die an honorable death. Alexei nodded to Nevski, and they headed in. They would destroy the rest of the Third Reich, even if he had to deal with- “Ah, the hero of Berlin graces us with his presence. Have you not tired of battle, Reznov?” Kravchenko. The man who had weaseled the truth of Dimitri’s death out of him, that he had killed himself, unable to live without his alpha mate. His alpha mate that he could not mourn due to the laws of Russia. It had shaken everything Reznov believed, because Dimitri deserved to be recognized as a hero for his actions, but because he had killed himself and loved the wrong woman, he was shunned as a traitor to Russia and denied his post-mortem medal of honor.

“As long as Mother Russia has enemies, I will answer her call.”

“Put aside your petty rivalry, Kravchenko.” Dragovich. Somehow worse a man than Kravchenko: he willingly worked with the motherland’s enemies to further his own designs for power and wealth. “Captain Reznov will do as he is told. We are here for one German, and one German only. Doctor Friedrich Steiner. This man has offered his cooperation to our cause. He is not to be harmed. Disobey this order, and you will be shot.” Reznov jumped on the truck, watching for enemies like a hawk. His hands may no longer be steady, but his eyes were as sharp as ever. One of the men asked,

“What happened between you and him?”

“When the German occupation began, he and his lap dog Kravchenko left my men and me outnumbered hopelessly. Promises of reinforcements were made, but not kept. Dimitri was the only reason I lived.”

“The traitor?” Piped up one of the men. Keznov looked away bitterly.

“He loved Russia and gave everything for her. Nothing else matters to me.” Alexei nodded.

“I am sure he is waiting to see you.”

“I pray not. He deserves far better than he received here. Dragovich and Kravchenko are opportunists. Manipulators. They are never to be trusted, Alexei.” They got to the site easily, orders repeated: retrieve Steiner alive and unharmed. “One final victory, my friend.” Alexei nodded.

“Perhaps when we return, someone will know where my son is.” Reznov had pulled every string he had left to find the man’s son in the omega trade: no soldier should go home to a missing child. He nodded.

“Only Steiner is to be spared: search every crevasse for the German dogs.” He found Steiner, using most of his willpower to not shoot him on sight as every horror the Reich had been responsible shone with PRIDE in his eyes. He bristled at being ordered, but he had previous orders from his commander. He took Steiner to Dragovich. The ship they were ordered to explore was filled with horrors. Half-molten bodies, rotting flesh puddles. It was sick, disgusting. It was beyond any horror he had seen in the war. Before he knew what was happening, they were forced into cells: he watched Alexei’s flesh boil from the toxin called Nova 6, his silent screams as his jaw muscles disintegrated searing into his mind. He was sick in the heart, and now, he had to lead his men out, to survive and ensure no one gained access to this torturous monstrosity of a gas. They sunk the grotesque ship, and he was taken to a gulag for betraying his home when all he was trying to do was protect it.

Chapter 4: 1950

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1950, January 2^nd: Miller blinked at the new law. Betas could join the army? That was a surprise. Apparently, the bill was first put in at the start of World War 1: it took that long to get the support to get through. He guessed it was okay: not the worst move. Maybe if they’d had more soldiers, the second one wouldn’t have lasted so long. Sides, it didn’t seem too different from the blacks joining in to him.

Martin stared at the new law being explained in the newspaper. What was next? Omegas joining? Being drafted? He clung to Penny. He didn’t want his wife getting drafted into this: they had 6 kids to take care of. Penny said comfortingly, “I’m not running off to the military, alpha. It’s just betas. Honestly, I would have felt a lot safer knowing you had more allies over there.”

“…You make a solid point: I’ll keep an open mind.” Besides, they didn’t even know what any of their kids’ genders were: they just knew they had 5 boys and one girl.

Shepard was not pleased with the new law. Neither was his mate. “What’s next, drafting for omegas? No, siree, I am not going into a war front!”

“Don’t worry, it won’t get that far. I’ll make sure our little one knows the proper way the world should be, Sticks.”

“Huh.” Evans muttered, looking at the paper as Price was talking about updates for SAS funding and missions.

“What’s got you interested?”

“The US made it to where betas can join the military.” Price laughed. “Sir?”

“We should hop on that, then. I always thought just having alphas was a bit daft. If someone wants to serve queen and country, let them. And your thoughts?”

“Don’t have many, Price. Just a new development: doesn’t affect me so long as they don’t stop me from doing my job. How’s the missus?” Price chuckled.

“Just as much a spitfire as ever. Sure our pup will be a handful like their mum.”

Chapter 5: 1961-1962

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1961, April 17^th: Mason hummed as they talked business. Honestly, he wasn’t super interested in Castro: he was just another drug lord terrorist on this damn island the brass liked to keep buttoned up. He was interested in that beta over there- “Focus.” He jerked back to the conversation, grumbling nonwords. There was a reason he was a beta working black ops. It was easier to hide in countries like this, and he was one of those gifted with adjusting his pheromones. He could cause a fight to erupt around him or calm an aggressor without lifting a finger or drawing attention to himself. Bowman was a mild-scented alpha: gunner and strongarm, good poker face. Woods was a stronger scented alpha: melee and planning specialist, great leader. “Police will be here soon: let’s make it quick.” Now he honed in: quick meant they would be moving soon, and he needed a baseline of what they’d be doing. The bartender got closer: must be their contact.

“Been a while.” Various introductions: Mason glanced at the beta chick again, but was still listening.

“Evac?”

“We will have transport waiting for you. Just be there.” Good.

“Excellent.” The door opened. Woods glanced behind them. “We got company.” Don’t. Don’t respond to the aggression, Woods.

“Just be cool, Woods, Wait-” He stabbed the man’s hand. “sh*t!” He shot the police, and headed out into the gunfight with a sigh. The issues with alphas: aggressive bred aggression. He jumped in the driver seat and they shot off. He chuckled. As they headed in, Mason calmly executing the Hispanics. It was his job, after all. They cleared the target and headed for exfil as the place burned. Carlos was late, but got there, and they headed down to the airfield, him hopping onto the plane and covering fire. Then there were vehicles blocking the way, and he jumped ship, covering fire-he was kicked in the skull and captured.

“Castro? You’re dead, we killed you!”

“No. You killed a double. You think we didn’t know of your plan?” Dragovich? The Russian madman?

“We always know.”

“Do with him what you wish, General. He’s my gift to you, in honor of our new relationship. Just make sure he suffers.” No. NO NONONO! He was dragged away, knocked out as he was roughly shoved into a vehicle.

1962, August 22^nd: She screamed, her husband holding her hand and whispering gentle encouragement. He didn’t understand why the baby was so big when they were so small: they would end up needing a C-section just to get it out and keep her alive. The nurse asked softly, “What do you want to name the baby, Mr. Kilgore? He’s a boy.”

“Konig. We both agreed a long time ago that would be his name.”

“But with both of you being omegas, the name ‘King’ doesn’t seem to fit.” He nodded. He knew the chances of having anything but an omega with both of them being 4^th generation omegas was less than a 5% chance. But even omegas could be royals.

“Trust me: he will earn that title. You’ll see.”

Chapter 6: 1963

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1963, October 6: Reznov hammered into the American’s skull. It was key to his plan. He had to get Mason out: once he was out, the motherland would be safe. Dragovich, Kravchenko, Steiner. They would die. Mason stole the keys as Reznov distracted the guard, then killed the guard. “Mason. Every journey begins with a single step. This is step one.”

“Secure the keys!” His soldiers screamed. Omega, Alpha, Beta. It didn’t matter here. If only he had realized that it didn’t matter anywhere. Russian was Russian, friend was friend. No matter the gender. No matter the law. Perhaps Dimitri would have lived, been honored as a hero, if he had, not been scorned as a weakling traitor for who he loved.

“Now, we take Vorkuta! What is step 2?!”

“Ascend from darkness!” From the pit of death that the German had left Dimitri in.

“Three?!”

“Rain fire!” As they had in Berlin.

“Four?!”

“Release the horde!” As they had with Alexei, another victim of Reznov’s foolishness.

“Five?!”

“Skewer the winged beast!” As he wished for the three to suffer.

“SIX?!”

“Wield a fist of iron!” As Russia would over all would-be emperors. He paused Mason.

“Allow me to introduce Sergei Kozin, the monster of Magadan.” An apex of unusually large size: the only apex imprisoned here due to the risks. Apex traitors were killed, as few as there were (he could recall a total of 2 apexes he had heard of: they were considered extremely dangerous. He knew of the law before he’d heard of the soldiers.), but the Romanovs were…influential.

“Glad you’re a friend, Sergei.” Mason said wearily, taking a few steps back before following them further towards freedom.

“Step two-” A friend from before paused him.

“Reznov, are you sure we can trust the American?” He nodded. He had ensured his victory would come, one way or another.

“With my life. He and us are not so different. We are all soldiers, without an army.” His had been lost from his own foolish choices at the hand of Dragovich. Mason’s had been lost due to Dragovich. They had common ground, common interests. “Betrayed, forgotten. Abandoned.” Dimitri’s ghost would continue to haunt him for the rest of his short life: that he knew. “In Vorkuta, we are ALL brothers.” They charged, Sergei leading the way with cloudy rage in his eyes.

“Reznov, your men have to know this is suicide.” Reznov knew. He would not leave this prison in body until his death.

“Victory cannot be achieved without sacrifice, Mason. We Russians know this better than anyone. Prepare yourselves, men! Mason, Sergei!” Sergei charged the container, pushing it along as Mason was panicking but following orders. Good: his conditioning had been successful. Perhaps too well, but Reznov could take another victim to achieve his victory, especially an American. Oh, Mason was a friend, but those 3 were far more. “All across Vorkuta, our comrades will rise to the cause! Step 3?”

“Rain fire.”

“See how Mason’s ingenuity turns junk into weapons!” It worked flawlessly. “Sergei, break open the arms lockers. Mason, climb the tower and support the uprising in the south!” He obeyed, and Reznov rallied them with words that now rang false in his ears, but not in his heart. He would always love Russia. His home, his people. But he was no longer fit to serve her. They fought for their freedom, Reznov for the others. His body would not leave this place while it breathed. Tear gas: Reznov pulled Mason away, prepping the bikes as Mason recovered from prolonged exposure to the gas. Reznov would get Mason out. His conditioning was successful. Once his mission was achieved, Mason would be free. Mason got on the train, and turned back.

“Your turn, come on! Step eight, Reznov: Freedom!” Reznov smiled as he saw the guards coming after him.

“For you, Mason. Not for me.” He whispered to himself, “I hope you did not wait for me, Dimitri.”

1963, November 17: Woods wasn’t quite sure what to make of Mason anymore. He wasn’t exactly…jumpy, but he seemed to talk to himself, muttering under his breath in Russian too quietly to discern words. He was steady as always, but he was…just off. Woods dismissed it as best he could: he had been imprisoned and tortured for almost 2 years. He was just as solid, just as capable, possibly more so since he wasn’t so d*** distractable now, but he wasn’t quite MASON either. He knew who Kravchenko was: he must have memorized all of Dragovich’s lieutenants. Not the healthiest coping mechanism, but to each their own. Mason cut off to get Weaver: Woods didn’t stop him. In fact, he helped get Weaver out while staying on mission. Weaver never talked right again: having a shard of glass get shoved into your mouth that was too big to fit inside does that to things. But he was still able to complete the mission. They still killed Dragovich, though Mason was positive he was still alive. Hudson wanted to talk to him about Mason. He was honest, but Hudson seemed to be asking around what he really wanted to know. Damn CIA or FBI or whatever the hell he was: it all blended together, the secret agent types that were never direct.

Chapter 7: 1968

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1968, January 21: Mason was almost as ice cold as Mr. Shades himself: they all elected to call Hudson that. He seemed obsessed with Mason, like Mason was obsessed with Dragovich. It was worrying to Woods, but he just ignored it. Being in a gulag for 2 years had to do things to people, and going right back into a sh*tshow like ‘Nam? Couldn’t be healthy for a mind. Still, he couldn’t ask for a better soldier. A better person to watch his back in these trenches. Then Hudson took Bowman to the side, talking about Laos and defectors. Which made Woods both wary and angry. If Hudson thought MASON was a defector, he was going to stab a bitch.

1968, February 2: Hue City was a sh*tshow, but Mason had still gone in. So Woods followed: he wouldn’t leave his friend behind again. He went into one of the rooms alone, Woods going with Bowman. He shouted in comms, “Mason, you get what you came for?!”

“Dragovich. I knew we’d see him again.” Dragovich?! Mason was speaking Russian like it was some kind of prayer, but feverish and uncannily wild for the now disturbingly collected man. But he joined back up, still muttering Russian and English, half-talking to himself. It was…bizarre, but Mason was just as collected in battle as always, just now with a constant chatter of Russian and English.

“Mason, what took so long? That intel had better be worth it! Where the hell’s our evac?!” The Russian calmed down, Mason back to his now normal self except for the occasional quiet chuckling as some inside joke in the back of his mind. Hudson took the file Mason had, the ice cube man looking shaken slightly.

1968, February 9: Mason’s data was good according to Hudson, though they weren’t told what was in that file, and they went to Hong Kong, to get someone named Clarke: a biochemist. They were told he worked for Dragovich, but nothing else. There, he said, under some…encouragement, he stabilized something called Nova 6. Woods wasn’t even authorized to come with: he found out that little from Mason, coming out a little more shaken than before right before they went north, deeper into Nam. Their chopper got shot down, Mason getting them out by some miracle and following him deeper into the jungle. Mason and Swift went through a spider tunnel, Woods going above-

“Swift’s dead. We got VC crawling all over.” sh*t-but there was no evidence of VCs.

“Mason, scans say we’re clear of-” Mason was muttering Russian again. He was starting to wonder if Hudson had a right to be concerned: Mason didn’t even KNOW Russian before getting captured, and now he was randomly speaking it rapidly and fluently? He shook it off. Mason was solid. He just knew it.

1968, February 11: Woods was starting to really think Mason was cracking under the pressure when he stopped speaking English in Laos. He understood every order: Woods knew that since Bowman could speak Russian, but Bowman was starting to get weirded out. “Say again?”

“K-Kravchenko: he’s nearby.” English: progress. Mason was jittery, unbalanced. Something was just…WRONG. He wasn’t there in the head, his scent bizarre, off-putting. He smelled as though he was trying to imitate an alpha, which he had never done before. Mason got captured again by Dragovich and Kravchenko, Woods being dragged along as well.

1968, February 19: Woods tried to keep level, scent everywhere. Playing Russian Roulette while Mason was exclusively muttering in Russian. Ironic in a way. Of course, he never could keep his mouth shut. Bowman was dead. He put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger: no bullet, thank f*ck. Mason got out calmly in English as he lifted up the gun,

“6 and 8.” Good. The trigger got pulled, and Woods bodied the two others as Mason secured a gun. It was a mess, but Mason was ice cold, unafraid. Which worried Woods: why was Mason jerky and unstable if he WASN’T scared? And how wasn’t he scared? Woods was terrified. And then in the compound, Mason split off. “Mason! MASON! What the f*ck are you doing?! Get back here!” He was speaking rapid Russian, faster than ever before. Woods chased after him, barely able to move fast enough to keep sight of the guy-Mason was shouting Russian, trying to kill the man as he pulled a gun-Woods tackled him out of the window, shouting,

“Stay solid!” As he plummeted to his death.

1968, February 23: Hudson watched Mason execute Steiner, saying his name was Victor Reznov, the Russian hero of Berlin. He knew it. Mason knew what the numbers meant. They just had to get his mind to cooperate, to break out of the conditioning. Him and Weaver dragged him away, pumping him full of truth serum drugs and hallucinogens, begging for a miracle in time to stop the destruction. He was convinced Reznov was with him the entire time, but he wasn’t. Hudson HAD to break the conditioning. America depended on it. Mason’s mind was fracturing itself, tearing apart seam by seam, trying to piece together what was real and what wasn’t. Hudson was desperate enough to go in. “Weaver, get to the bunker. Say I failed.”

“You want to die with him? Your choice!” Hudson nodded, approaching the strapped down, drooling beta whose body was half-broken and mind splintering.

“DAMNIT! Why can’t you remember?! Reznov’s dead, Mason! You hear me, he’s dead! Weaver’s right. We are out of time.” He started untying him. “The Russians f*cked you up, Alex, but I know you, you’re not a traitor.” He got decked into the TVs, Mason half speaking Russian and half speaking English as he stumbled down the hallways, slamming into walls and tables like he couldn’t see but was trying to run.

“Reznov! Where are you! REZNOV!” Hudson followed carefully as Mason was screaming in pain. He decked Mason as he froze, the screams ending abruptly.

“Dragovich brainwashed you, but Reznov had plans of his own. He was never in Nam. The real defector with the Nova dossier died during the attack on MAC-V. He was never in the rat tunnels. He was never at Rebirth Island. Victor Reznov died in Vorkuta, 5 years ago during the escape. All the years you thought he was with you, that was just in your mind!” He had a gun on Mason until he saw the light return.

“I-I trusted him.”

“That’s why it worked. It was their attempt at MK-Ultra. Dragovich programmed you to kill Kennedy, but Reznov sabotaged him. He wanted revenge. Dragovich, Kravchenko, Steiner: 3 new targets. There are gaps in your memory, periods you went MIA and we couldn’t account for you. But with the brainwashing broken, that lost time will come back.” He thought: it was still a very new field. “We need to leave. Nova 6 is going to hit any time now. Hundreds of sleeper agents, hidden in every capitol, are about to unleash the gas on their own countrymen. You’re the only one who can tell us what the codes mean. Nova 6 was just one sleeper program: I’m sure there were others, ones we don’t even know about. Alex, please. This is our last shot, so for f*ck’s sake, listen.” Mason nodded weakly, hands trembling.

“…C-Cuba. A-A ship, something…called Rusalka.” Hudson slapped his shoulder.

“Let’s stop World War Three.”

1968, February 26: Mason’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking. 6 years, he’d been brainwashed. He didn’t know what was a lie, what wasn’t. He only knew he could trust Hudson. The real memories were returning: he wasn’t sure if it was because 2 of the 3 were dead or if it was because Hudson broke the program. He didn’t think he’d ever know, not that it really mattered which it was. But he knew his loyalty to America was real, and he was pissed someone had turned him against it, even for a second. Dragovich died in his grasp, claws digging into his throat and half-decapitating him. And then the other real memories flooded in as Weaver pulled him on the boat. “We did it.” Mason nodded weakly, both alphas patting his shoulder as he tried to sort through what was real and what wasn’t…

Chapter 8: 1974-1980

Chapter Text

1974, February 18: Steven Shepard smiled down as his son. “What do you think we should name him, alpha?” His husband shrugged, leaning back as he lit a cigarette.

“What was your dad’s name again?”

“Herschel.”

“Then let’s name him Herschel. Herschel Shepard.” He preened with pride. Hell, he loved his husband…

1974, March 10^th: He winced at the screaming baby. “Can’t you shut that thing up?!”

“Lo siento, alpha, I’m trying!” She sobbed desperately, rocking him gently and trying to shush. “It’s okay, Gabriel. You’ll be alright, it’s okay…” Why was she given to the Rorke family? She was told America was free. This was not freedom, merely a new form of slavery she could not escape.

1974, September 27^th: Miller was tired as he opened up the newspaper, settling into the coffee shop as he waited for his coffee. Oh, omegas were now allowed to join the military. That was unexpected, more so than the betas. Though, he wasn’t complaining. Wasn’t like he even knew any omegas, and the world was changing so rapidly, he didn’t see any harm with having more people able to join in protecting their country…he groaned as his back spasmed. He was too old for warfare, anyways…

Martin watched as his omega son charged in, holding up the papers with a grin. “Dad, dad! I got in, I got in!” He was terrified, but he’d try to be supportive. None of his other kids wanted to join the military, but his son had married a lovely British alpha named Kit Laswell: he so much wanted to protect people, so much wanted to help people… “I can protect people-I can protect my partner, dad! So, ze don’t have to work: ze have a guarantee payrate-I can protect the country, like you did!” He burst into tears, hugging his son tightly. Please. Please stay alive.

“I’m so proud of you, baby.”

Steven Shepard sighed, rubbing his head as his dad was still going off, his parent cooking in the kitchen agreeing with every other sentence. “Dad, dad, I get it. I don’t like it either, I don’t think we should be in that situation because it puts the real soldiers at risk. But that’s what the courts decided, and I don’t feel like arguing about something that’s out of our hands now that’s it’s been passed. I’ll just keep any omegas I know out of that place: they’ll get themselves killed.”

Evans laughed, the old man Price looking over from his tea. “What’s got you interested?”

“US says omegas are allowed in the military.” Price chuckled too, leaning back with an exhausted look. “Kids got you in a choke hold?” Price nodded.

“23 and getting married next week, 13 and just presented. Mary’s having a cow trying to plan the party.”

“Oh? What is he?”

“Alpha. Both alphas, both as stubborn as a mule like their mum. Wouldn’t change it for the world, but damn, is it exhausting.”

1976, October 2^nd: She didn’t want to raise this baby alone. That was an omega’s job. But she had made the mistake of bonding with a weakling. “Come on, Elias. I’ll make you the strongest alpha in the world: you’ll make the Walker family proud.”

1980, August 22^nd: Konig shuddered as he stood at attention, feeling every eye on him. It was a 10-minute service: he could do this. He HAD to do this. He could see his mom in the crowd, beaming at him. His face was bright red as he tried to remember how to breath. Thank f*ck he didn’t have to say anything: he couldn’t remember any words right now but ‘panic’ and ‘terror’ as smells assaulted him from every direction: fear of him, excitement, discomfort, a few heat scents…He should be proud. He made it through basic despite his fears when everyone said he was too feral to even try out (despite it being required). He had made it through 8 years of being told he was a bastard son, since there was no way that two omegas could have an apex son. 7 years after his father had been killed in a hate crime because of him. 6 years of tiptoeing around everyone so he didn’t come off as a danger. He was a proper soldier now. He could help people, even if he was an apex and they were scared. And he would help them. That’s all he wanted. His commander tapped his knee, and Konig leaned down so he could more easily pin the ribbon on. “Bitte sie, mein Herr.” His commander had just as much fear as him, just from being close to him.

“Kleine Sorge, Herr-soldat.” Konig swelled in embarrassment and pride. He could almost forget the people as he straightened and saluted them all. Almost. Once off stage, he immediately went to the restroom to vomit out the little food he’d managed to eat that morning. His mom embraced him, shouting to heaven how proud she was as he struggled out his pills: they were the only thing that made these kinds of situations somewhat bearable. Now, he just had to wait for the anxiety meds to kick in before he could rejoin the crowd, applying scent blocker around his neck so he didn’t have to hear the gags.

Chapter 9: 1981

Chapter Text

1981, January 12^th: Mason asked softly, “Are you sure we can trust this guy, Adler?”

“He’s done more for less: he’ll look the other way.” Mason wasn’t as sure. He never was anymore, even after his memories returned, the numbers half-faded from thought. It sometimes hurt to think, but he was glad to be…himself again. He looked away to a beta. Damn, she was hot… he turned back when the guy made eye contact.

“We clear to move on the target?”

“Qasim’s in his apartment, but he’s well protected. I can keep my men out of the area for 15 minutes. Hope you brought an army.” Army? Mason and Adler didn’t need an army.

“We brought enough. Pleasure doing business with you, Hans. Come on: Woods is itching for a dust-up. We don’t want to let him down.” Woods. His former best friend’s omega mate. He’d joined as soon as he could, quickly moving up to CIA operative because of his quick thinking and ability to go unnoticed. The small man waved.

“Hey, Mas. Party favors are in the trunk.”

“Thanks.” It had been awkward since the island: Woods had dove out of a window with that bastard to save his life…

“Dipsh*t probably thinks he’s safe.” And Woods had a worse mouth that his friend ever had.

“That piece of trash is a lot of things: safe ain’t one of them.”

“Do we really need to take this son of a bitch alive, Adler?”

“Qasim has info we need. Everyone else can take a powder.” Mason was checking every alley, every corner. Subtly, to not draw attention, but he was alert. And they went in. It was quick, relatively clean. They interrogated him, Mason using his pheromones to agitate the situation, make him more scared every time he didn’t have an answer and calmer when he could. Subtly, of course: it was a carrot-stick method mixed with good cop, bad cop. They were heading to Turkey. Every once in a while, he would mutter to himself in Russian, just one or two words. “Calm. You’re solid.” The Russian was comforting, reminded him of his friend. Because he still saw Reznov as his friend, because Reznov had got him out of Vorkuta. He would never dismiss that. Turkey went a bit sour, but Arash was more talkative. He mentioned Perseus. Why did he mention Perseus? Perseus was dead. The president was helpful in getting these idiots in line, Woods more hostile than typical when they dismissed him just as an omega. Mason didn’t blame him: sexism ticked him off, too, but they got what they needed. Bell: Mason couldn’t. He pulled himself out: he couldn’t do what was done to him to someone else, even if it was an enemy.

1981, February 23^rd: Adler watched Bell closely. They were naturally quiet, but open to people, asking all sorts of questions to Park, Sims, Lazar. The programming was holding on the beta. They responded best to it, the programming. He didn’t blame Mason for pulling, his life for years reason enough, and he was still working with them: he just refused to be near Bell while they were under programming. But it was their best chance at finally nailing the bastard Perseus. As of right now, the key was getting Bell to explore those memories. Hence why Park, an MI6 psychiatrist, was here. The danger the prodding would make Bell revert to either ferality or to an enemy again was why Lazar, melee expert, was here. And Sims was here to provide any support they needed now with what Bell recalled.

1981, February 24^th: Bell had been useful. They always had been, at least in their mind. Anton Volkov. They were about to head out, Park asking for them to capture, not kill. He’d keep that in mind, for intel purposes. Adler stuck with Bell, no reason for them to be alone. Hell, he hoped Bell stayed their friend after the programming faded: they were a remarkable asset. And despite their near silence, they were friendly: Sims had nothing but positive things to say, which was rare for the money guy. It went south quick, and Bell went to get a captured friend out, and rejoined Lazar. Then they lost visual. “Greta got sold out: getting location of sale now.” Adler got Bell out, and they brought back Volkov, and they got even more intel.

“Good work, Bell.”

“It’s my job, sir.” Adler nodded with a smile. Mason would be joining him for the mission: Bell was with Woods.

1981, February 27: Woods first noted Bell was a lot more stable than his alpha had described Mason. No weird jerkiness, no mysterious language acquisition. The next thing he noted was Bell was very quiet and very good at being a spy. They were simply…spy-like, but not spy-like? If he didn’t know Bell was a spy, he’d never think the beta was one. They ended up in some kind of training room-arcade-city., where he embarrassed himself by attacking a mannequin. It was…disturbing. He was relieved to start killing: it distracted him from the surreal environment. And then Berlin had a nuke hidden inside it, all thanks to Hudson. He was angry, confused, and unsure what was happening even as he got Bell out of there with Reds trying to kill them all. “Make sure Mas and Adler are ready to pull us! We’re coming out hot, and Hudson’s got a sh*tton of explaining to do!” Mason looked at Bell with pity. Woods wasn’t sure why: they had been an enemy, and now they weren’t, and it wasn’t even hurting them. Bell seemed content with their new life. He tracked down Hudson with Mason and Adler, and decked the man, pinning him to the wall without Hudson resisting.

“You knew the nuke was from Greenlight and didn’t tell us?! What the f*ck else are you hiding? Maybe I can beat the truth out of you!” Hudson said calmly,

“You may want to rethink that, meg.” Woods bristled, but saw the gun.

“Everyone calm down. A pissing match ain’t going to help catch Perseus.” He pulled back, and Mason snapped,

“Why didn’t you tell us it was an American nuke?”

“He needs to clear up his mess. Bastard’s been lying to us all along-” Mason put a hand on Woods’ shoulder.

“It’s not a lie: it’s an omission of fact.”

“That’s a f*cking-” Mason gave him a warning glare.

“That’s what you do best, isn’t it? Manipulate people then tell them your own version of the truth. Just ONCE, tell me straight. What is going on?”

“There is no truth, only what you choose to believe. Adler knows all about that, don’t you, Russ?” Adler sighed.

“Greenlight. What is it. Tell us everything. Mason’s been in the dark for too long: it’s not right.”

“’58. Arms race in full swing. Eisenhower thought if the Reds moved on Europe, we couldn’t respond quick enough. Greenlight is a top-secret program that place nukes in every major European city. Ultimate countermeasure to a Soviet invasion. ’74, they upgraded to neutron bombs, capable of killing people without damaging infrastructure.”

“Millions of people DEAD in a second and you’re f*cking talking infrastructure?!” Woods snarled, Mason’s hand on his shoulder all that was stopping him. This was exactly why he joined the military: to STOP things like this, and his own country was DOING it?! Mason said softly,

“How civilized. Kill the people, preserve the buildings.”

“We’re preserving our way of life!” Adler waved them all down.

“How long have you known about the missing nuke?”

“…8 weeks. We suspected Perseus, but couldn’t confirm until you brought pictures from Berlin.”

“American nuke in the wild, and once Perseus detonates it, US becomes global enemy number one.” Adler summarized.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you did your job and killed Perseus in Nam!” Adler grabbed Mason and Woods.

“Next time, I won’t stop them.” They headed out again.

1981, March 3: Mason needed to clear Mount Yamantau. The numbers were buzzing in his head, his soft mutterings of Russian calming him. Steiner was dead. Kravchenko was dead. Dragovich was dead. He confirmed all three: Reznov’s mission and programming was over. Mainframe digging: they were trying to uncover Steiner’s research. His anger boiled at the thought, and it wasn’t the numbers that spurred him on. He lost his gun, the numbers searing his mind as he fought on. He felt sick as the numbers rattled inside, him starting to HEAR them out loud as his stomach fought itself. He met back up with Woods: he looked shaken. “You went through this??” Mason nodded.

“It’s fine: I got better.” He muttered in Russian, “Calm. You’re solid.” They stole the mainframe instead, and Mason paused Woods, hands shaking as he tried to stop the numbers. “The numbers-I can’t right now. I-I’ll join up when you need me, but I can’t right now.” Woods nodded sympathetically.

“I’m sorry, Mas. You’ll get through this.”

1981, March 7: Adler was pissed, but hid it well. Lazar came over, Adler nodding in recognition.

“Just got word: Belikov is back in Moscow.”

“You know the plan. Bell, with me. Lazar, be ready for exfil.” He watched from the corner of his eye as Hudson stormed forward.

“Are you taking him into the KGB with you?” Adler nodded, still not making direct eye contact. “Are you crazy? Wait for Mason or Woods to return.” That could be an hour or a month, depending on how Woods handled finding out what Mason experienced and how Mason handled seeing it all again. He didn’t say that, though.

“I don’t need them. I need Bell. They’ve got the skill we need.”

“Are you enjoying this?” He wasn’t particularly enjoying the threatening tone Hudson was using, but yeah, he was getting vindictive pleasure from this. “You’re risking the entire operation unnecessarily.” Bell looked between them, puzzled.

“Not unnecessary, calculated.” Adler straightened as Hudson used his superior size, trying to intimidate him.

“Understand that if you botch this, we can’t get those names. It’s over.” Adler didn’t blink, chest flush against Hudson’s without hesitating. Hudson backed down: he’d won. He smiled at Bell.

“I know you can do this. Hudson doesn’t trust someone he can’t control.” Bell nodded uneasily.

“Um, is that because I’m Russian?”

“That, and you’re a beta. Hudson’s a traditionalist: doesn’t like betas being in the military. Prove him wrong.” Bell nodded eagerly. They talked to Hudson for a bit, and somehow managed to get him to chill a little by some miracle, then came over to him. “What’s on your mind?”

“Are we really breaking into the Kremlin?” Adler chuckled at the slight nervousness that breeched their confidence.

“Not the first agency we’ve broken into. The best ones are hard, but everywhere has a weakness. KGB’s is putting too much trust in one of their own.” Bell nodded, shifting in discomfort.

“Will…I need to speak?”

“Nope: I’ll handle the talking; you get the names. This mission is perfect for your skills.” Bell preened slightly. “You solid?”

“Yes, sir. Just…not sure how comfortable I will be in the heart of my home country.”

“America’s your home now, and I’ve got your back.” Bell nodded, walking off to talk to the others. This would be risky, but he was confident Bell was solid.

1981, March 9: Adler could hear the nervousness in Belikov’s voice as he explained everything as they changed.

“This keycard will give you access to the bunker. I have killed 3 men to gain this key. I need exfil as well.” Adler nodded, tapping his shoulder: the man jerked away. “Do not touch me.”

“Sorry, habit. If we make it out, you’ll make it out.”

“I will be outside the building: you should have access to everything you need. If stopped, you are reporting to Commander Sobol.” Adler nodded, glancing at Bell. They seemed…well, normal. Other than a scare at the checkpoint, they got through to the elevator easily-someone came in: Adler didn’t know him. Bell grabbed his shoulder, and Adler knocked him out.

“Elevator talks are always awkward.” Bell nodded with a slight smile. The firefight was efficient and sudden. They were not happy to see an American in their secure bunker. Then it started to get dicey, but they pulled Belikov along with them, him supporting them without question, and they all got out.

“You solid?” Bell nodded, looking at their hands.

“I thought killing my former people would be hard. It was not, because they were…trying to kill me.” Adler patted their shoulder.

“Never a fun concept, Bell.”

1981, March 12: Mason wasn’t happy it was Castro again, the sh*t that started everything that went wrong with him, Woods and his mate. He had agreed to come in for one reason alone: he was intimately familiar with Cuba and Castro. His experience would save lives, especially the overinvolved Woods. Then Bell came over, and Mason nodded awkwardly. “Bell.”

“Uh…you seem…to know Fidel Castro.” Mason groaned.

“Don’t get him started-” Too late. Woods was speaking English for the first half, then started speaking rapid and angry French. Mason said softly, “Yeah, it’s a long…story. Castro stirred up a lot of sh*t that went back to DC. We mostly cleaned it up, but if Hudson finds a bullet in his head, we’ll say it’s collateral.” Bell nodded in understanding.

“You are a big hero of mine, Mr. Mason. I heard about what you did.” Mason’s smile was watery at best.

“It’s what anyone would have done.” He practically whispered as Woods was still going. He bumped the omega’s shoulder.

“Quai?! Oh, sorry. I, uh, got carried away.” Bell nodded, giving a salute, and walking off. Mason muttered in Russian again,

“Calm. You’re solid.”

1981, March 13: Mason stuck near Woods. For his own mental sanity and for Woods’ physical safety. Woods and Adler made no comment on such actions. Bell was efficient as hell, and didn’t speak Russian. When Mason did, they looked at him oddly. Probably the perfect pronunciation and structure without any visible signs of Russian blood. Because he didn’t have any. He just had Reznov. He didn’t feel much for the scientists dying. He stopped caring for those of scientific fields after Dragovich got a hold of him. “Calm. You’re solid.” He echoed to himself as everything went to sh*t. Perseus could detonate all of the nukes. One of Adler’s crew had to be left. Adler stared in hard silence as they left him-Mason put a bullet in his skull, Adler turning to him in horror. “They won’t get another one, sir.” Adler processed it, then nodded.

“Thanks, Mason.” He wouldn’t let someone else have these damn numbers in their skull.

1981, March 14: Mason was bouncing his leg as they prepared to deprogram Bell, watching from the corner as they took him into a separate room. Woods sat next to him. “…No Russian?”

“Nyet.” He stated flatly, explaining in Russian, “I can’t control when the language flips: stress makes me Russian.” Woods put a hand on his knee.

“I have no idea what you said, Mas.” That makes two of them: He had never even heard French be spoken until the wedding, and whenever Woods got way too excited, he spoke French. He heard a guttural scream coming from the room, and burst inside. Bell had curled into a corner, muttering broken Russian as tears streamed down their face.

“Mason, you don’t need to-” He decked Adler, and crouched in front of the beta with more jumbled memories than they knew what to do with. He held them, singing the song Reznov used to.

“Hurts, I want to go home, he is sick…”

“I know, I know.” He said softly, cradling the broken Bell as they sobbed.

“Where is Perseus?!” Mason snarled at Adler.

“Give them time! It is so much-” He winced, gripping his own head as the numbers flooded his vision as he swore. It was about 5 minutes before he returned, mind fuzzy. Bell was calmer now.

“…You have been lying to me. But I will not lie to you. I will be better, and I am going back to Russia. Solovetsky. He is in Solovetsky. Thank you, Mason. For making me…solid again.” Mason nodded meekly, backing up.

1981, March 15: Bell was just as efficient, but now they were cold to Adler. To them all. They were insistent on going back to Russia once this mission was over. Mason didn’t have the heart to tell them that couldn’t happen. He stuck with Woods again. After the disaster of Cuba, he wouldn’t let the French immigrant out of his sight unless he knew they were safe, back in the states. The place blew up. “Body?” He asked flatly. Adler shook his head.

“Perseus is nonconfirmed KIA.”

“Then he’s not dead. Bell?”

“Alive. Shaken up, but alive. I’m taking them to Alaska: one last goodbye.” Mason nodded vaguely. The kid was never going back to Russia. “You still solid?”

“I’ll keep serving the US. But I won’t take part of any more brainwashing schemes. EVER.”

“Understood: I’ll keep you out of that part.”

“Mind dropping me in Alaska? I’ve got a cabin up there. Isolated, lets me think.”

“Sure.”

Chapter 10: 1984-1985

Chapter Text

1984, February 7^th: “Mr. Martin? Your son can see you now.” He hesitantly went inside, to find him sound asleep holding a little baby. Kit was to the side, and hugged him.

“Thanks for flying out. It means a lot to both of us.”

“He’s my son. I’d move mountains for him. How was Britain?” His son had been discharged from the army after taking a bullet to the knee: the damage made him have a permanent limp, but he was alive. His actions while injured saved nearly an entire battalion because he’d managed to get to flares and warn them of the danger. After that, they’d gone to Kit’s home country of Britain for a late honeymoon, came back to have a baby girl.

“Good. My parents were happy to see him and me after so long. But I’m also glad to be back in the states. I moved here to get away from them for a reason. You’re all the pack I need.”

“What’s their name?”

“Kate. Kate Laswell. She already feels like a brave one. After all, she has her father’s eyes.” Martin nodded: they really were his son’s eyes on Kit’s face.

1984, October 21: Miller groaned, pulling on his glasses as he held up the paper to read it a bit easier. Britain had joined the club now: Betas could join the military. There were a lot of protests over there. He didn’t really care anymore. What was the difference between genders, anyways, if they could hold a weapon and fire, that was basically all warfare was…

Martin wasn’t surprised Britain had started to allow betas in, nor the public’s response to such. Britain was a very traditional place, and even as open minded as he considered himself, when the US started to allow betas and omegas in, he had panicked, too. He just hoped his family had had enough of wars and violence at this point…

Steven Shepard scowled. The Brits, too? Ugh, what was the world coming to?! “Dad? What’s wrong?”

“Britain had the brilliant idea to let Betas into the military.” Herschel scowled.

“But they’re BETAS.” Steven sighed.

“Not much we can do about it. Just make sure you know how the world really should be.”

“Alphas are the strong ones: I remember.”

Evans winced as he looked at the paper. Price would have loved this. Too bad he had had heart complications due to that lead bullet in his thigh they couldn’t fish out. Mary patted his shoulder. “He’s watching us now, dear, and he’s proud of the progress we’ve made. Oh, and my little boy’s wife’s expecting. Would you come to the birth?”

“Of course, ma’am. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

1985, July 11^th: Holly nervously watched as Joshua paced outside of the room. “Is it supposed to take this long?”

“How would I know, Josh? I don’t have a mate.” She snapped back. Mary rolled her eyes, pulling her pups to a seat.

“Yes, it sometimes takes this long. Now take a seat and have a tea. The doctors knew what they were doing when I gave birth to both of you over 24 years ago, they know what they’re doing with your wife. You getting your knickers in a twist is not going to help anyone, love.” Evans burst in, panting.

“Am I late, Mary?” She waved him off.

“Not at all, just in time. Petricia’s still in labor. Would you be a dear and get us a tea?” Evans chuckled.

“Sure, ma’am. Holly, Joshua. Are you holding up?” Joshua nodded shakingly.

“Best I can. Working up to a pitch.” Holly gave a thumbs up.

“Keeping his head on straight.” Evans headed off to the café to get some tea, Joshua’s leg bouncing anxiously. Mary watched calmly. Evans came back, groaning as he sat down.

“Feeling the age, Evans?” He scoffed.

“Old as dirt, ma’am. 70 and all.” She moaned in annoyance.

“Don’t say that, dear: I’m not so much younger at 64.” She was lucky enough to have found a young mate in Price and was even luckier to have as long with him as she did with a lead bullet in his leg. “Still active military?”

“Oh, I would be if I could. They tried to put me behind a desk. I’m no pencil pusher, not in my blood. I moved to the private sector. Rich prats on someone’s sh*t list. Keeps me active but calm enough to not press too hard.”

“I’m glad you’re staying active, dear.” They talked back and forth for a few hours before a nurse came out of the room.

“You have a newborn son, and Petricia is still in good health. She’s resting right now, but said you had already agreed on what name to give him?” Joshua nodded.

“J-John Price. After my dad.” Mary smiled sweetly. Price would be pleased.

“Come meet your son.”

1985, December 11^th: Yuri watched from the window, chained to the pole. He had been labeled ‘defiant’. The worst thing for an omega, to be defiant. But his son had become influential from careful moves, plans, designs. And Yuri was about to have a grandchild he likely would never meet. But he heard the name be muttered throughout the village over the next few days. Nikolai, after a great Russian hero. He hoped the child would not be an omega: it was a fate worse than death in these days of war. He was eventually unchained for one reason only: his son’s mate had been poisoned, and an alpha did not raise children. He was beyond grateful for the chance. If only his father, Alexei, could have been here…

Chapter 11: 1986

Chapter Text

1986, January 2^nd: Mason paused as he heard the helicopter, jumping down as he took in the alpha that approached rapidly and slightly aggressively with Hudson. “Lieutenant Colonel North, NSC.” Like that meant sh*t to him. “You already know Jason Hudson.” So that was his first name.

“What do you want?”

“Yesterday, Sargeant Woods led a cover team to take out an arms’ smuggling ring in Angola. We lost contact this morning.”

“So get him. Why are you here?” Hudson spoke, the numbers prickling under his skin.

“Castro and Russians are all over Angola. We can’t go in. CIA has buried the mission. Woods and his squad no longer exist.”

“f*cking course not. Need a pilot and a gun.” He grumbled, cracking his neck.

1986, January 3^rd: Mason moved fast. He didn’t pay much attention to Savimbi or the war: he was more concerned for his friend. Besides, war was the same anywhere to him at this point. After Nam, Russia, black ops…it all blended together. Except for Vorkuta. That was very, very distinct. He didn’t pay attention to Hudson, either, just getting the container and clearing out. The stench was awful. “Frank? Woods?” He caught the jaws before they clamped down. “It’s me, it’s me, Mason. You’re safe now. You’re safe.” It was a disaster, but Mason carried the man to safe ground, following Hudson as he struggled to breath: at least 4 broken ribs, and they were trying to avoid kids. It was a disaster, through and through, the numbers rattling around his mind, making him revert to Russian and forget how to speak English. Savimbi got them out. “You willing to come in?”

“It’s Menendez, and no programming. I’m in.”

1986, April 6^th: Ramirez was holding his little girl happily, bouncing in place as her mom slept. He didn’t care that he was an alpha: he didn’t care that ‘alpha’s weren’t gifted in child rearing’. He would never willingly miss a day of his little girl’s life. She deserved everything America could offer, little Terissa. She was already so energetic, and she was only 5 days old! He preened with pride as she gripped his fingers, squeezing so absurdly strong for her small size. “Don’t worry, baby. Daddy’ll be here as long as he can. You’re the most valuable thing I’ll ever protect…besides your mom, you know.” She giggled delightfully.

1986, April 20^th: Hudson was a good partner. Mason would never deny that, despite his immense dislike for the man. Woods was fast tracking his way back into active duty officially. He was on standby here. It was an infil, kill, exfil mission. No different than others. Menendez had kidnapped a scientist. He didn’t know why or what the heck he was a scientist of. He didn’t really care: scientists made him nervous. He died before they got out, but Hudson seemed concerned about this situation.

1986, May 29^th: The city was flooded. Mason was glad to have Hudson and Woods here: he’d been reassigned to active duty now, and while jumpy, he was pretty much back to normal. Now they had to evade the search lights and find Menendez. Woods went a different way, so Mason was back with just Hudson. Which was fine: Mason didn’t want Woods to freak out at seeing his torturer again. Menendez had some sort of plan: a plan called Karma, which would start June 12, and Menendez knew they were there. They bolted as fast as they could, Woods rubbing his neck anxiously. Mason gave him his arm instead: his scent gland was turning raw while driving as fast as he could, regardless of actual safety.

1986, June 12^th: They were infiltrating Hong Kong. Which was not good, considering they were breaking into the richest neighborhood with tons of security. Somehow, it went smoothly for once, until it didn’t. Menendez was going to sink the entire coast of the city. So now an espionage mission turned into a gun fight, and turned into an escort mission. Hudson headed to get her as Woods and Mason fought their way out, Woods going to help Hudson’s not so good social mannerisms. Which then turned hostage, which then turned mass shooting-absolute disaster. The CIA would have a field day covering this up…turns out, this lady was a hacker: tech expert. And she was a mess. She was talking about how he’d threatened her entire family, her pups she had had to leave alone before they had even presented, her pregnancy she was 3 months into, while also explaining Menendez was planning to take down the entire fiscal world in one cyber-attack. June 19^th. They had 7 days to find it and stop it.

1986, June 19^th: Mason didn’t like they’d sent the only Hispanic member of their squad undercover with Menendez. He didn’t trust that. He didn’t trust that Hudson had been captured-and then Menendez had their undercover man shoot Hudson in the head. Huh. That was one way to establish trust. He wasn’t particularly upset: neither was Woods. Hudson had manipulated them far too much for them to actually mind he was dead. No, both of them were more concerned for their undercover friend, Farid. It was going…really smoothly after that little hiccup-but Menendez got away, damn it. Karma was working with them to stop the attack. She asked to exclusively be called Karma: evidently Chloe had ‘died’ a long time ago.

1986, June 20^th: Karma had hacked the location out of the…thing. Mason and Woods were going to meet up with Farid and stop this, once and for all. Los Angeles. What a place to pick, Menendez. Loud, populated, and easy to hide sh*t in. About 3 roads got involved in the middle of downtown thanks to Menendez. Karma was running tech, giving updates Mason didn’t understand but somehow Woods did. “sh*t, sh*t, sh*t!”

“Talk to us, Karma!”

“He piggybacked the signal: that isn’t the broadcast center: he’s just f*cking with you!”

“Where is the broadcast center?!” Mason barked in Russian.

“I don’t speak German!” She snapped angrily.

“Russian: where is he was the question!”

“Haiti: he’s in Haiti, Port Au Prince. He bounced off like 7 different places, but I’m sure.” Mason nodded, calling one of the few people he knew who could understand Russian while still being in a high enough position to help.

“We need support in LA: 3 streets are a complete warzone, and we have a bigger issue at hand!”

“I’m sending Captain Walker and her squad in there: she’ll clean it up.” The general said calmly. “Go get this fixed, Alex.”

“Yes, sir. Woods, let’s go!” He was glad Woods had been trying to learn basic phrases in Russian to help Mason.

“On the way, RV at the corner, Ramirez’s picking us up!”

“Karma, talk to us!” Woods translated,

“Mason wants what you have!”

“Not much, the pictures are old, sats are out of position. You’ll be going in blind.”

“We’ve done worse.” Woods muttered. “Mas?”

“The f*cking numbers-Dragovich is dead, Kravchenko is dead, Steiner is dead. Calm, you’re solid.”

“Uh?” Karma half-asked.

“Mason’s got issues, but he’ll pull us through. Always does. Mason?”

“I’m solid.” He forced out in English, taking a deep breath just as they landed. Menendez f*cking WASN’T there, but they shut it down. Karma asked as they headed back,

“So, uh, am I stuck behind your computers until we nail this bitch, or…?”

“Menendez won’t stop until he or you is dead, so you tell me.” Woods sighed. Mason raised a hand. “One sec. Mas?”

“Alaska. I have a cabin there. Isolated, secluded. I think decent internet. She can stay with me, her and her kids. I can keep them safe, so long as they don’t mind night terrors.” Woods blinked, trying to translate it from the broken Russian and English.

“f*cking hell, Mas…Mason’s got an offer for you, Karma. He’s got a safe house, way up north. Not even I know where it is exactly. He’s offering both you and your kids to stay there, until things settle.” Mason nodded at Woods’ questioning look, verifying he was translating right. Karma choked.

“Yes. Yes, please. I want to see my pups again…”

1986, September 5: Mason wanted this over with. Almost an entire year going after this guy, and now they were in Afghan tracking this guy down while evading detection from the Russians as the Russians were attacking. This year was sh*t. At least he was back with Woods, not Hudson. That was the only tether to his sanity left. The numbers were getting worse. Kravchenko’s son was involved, and the numbers were getting worse and worse-they were betrayed. They were buried alive, left for dead. He saw Reznov come for them. Woods explained quickly once they were out, “It was Savimbi. Savimbi got us.”

“B-but I saw-”

“I know, mon Frere. But he is not here anymore.” Mason nodded, rocking himself as they flew out.

1986, September 25^th: The mission went by the books up until they hit the main house. Menendez had been released by the cartel: Mason grabbing Woods’ shoulder before he could run off. “Either keep solid, or pull back.”

“You have no idea what happened in-”

“Torture. There was a woman in there who’s probably terrified with no idea what’s going on.” Woods hesitated, but nodded.

“I’m solid. Sorry.”

“War f*cks with you.” Mason dismissed easily, leading the way through the compound with a hand on Woods’ shoulder as often as he possibly could, to stabilize and comfort, and to keep him from doing something he’d regret. He grabbed the gun as soon as Woods stiffened. “Don’t-” He caught the grenade, chucking it down another hallway. “WOODS! Get your sh*t together!”

“I-I’m good. I’m sorry.” He breathed, them heading inside to corner Menendez-Mason threw the man off of the scarred woman, snarling angrily as Woods pinned Menendez down, “What the f*ck is wrong with you?! Don’t touch her!” The soldier hissed,

“She’s an enemy mon-”

“She’s a f*cking civilian!” Woods snarled right back, aiming a gun at the soldier as Menendez was underneath him, pinned and concussed while still screaming. “None of us are going to touch her. We’re taking her out of here alive and unharmed. I hate Menendez, not her!” Mason raised his hands, trying his best to calm the situation as the numbers swarmed around.

“We’re going to take care of Menendez, and bring her to the US for treatment. She’s sick, not a monster.” His new handler (also called Hudson, ironically enough: he was pretty sure it was just a code name now) came in, nodding in support.

“From this day on, today never happened. She’ll be taking a trip to-”

“Alaska. With me.” Mason growled, Hudson looking at him with a frown. “She’s a f*cking civilian.” She whimpered in terror.

“…If you’ll take responsibility, sure. I know she’s safe with you.” Menendez snarled,

“You won’t touch her!” Mason snapped,

“Of f*cking course not! She’s a civilian, and unlike you and your cartels, I have rules of engagement.” Hudson nodded, raising Menendez’ chin.

“You, though. You’re going to die, after telling us EVERYTHING.” He snapped his jaws angrily, Woods and Mason keeping the shaking woman who was hiding her face away from the others.

1986, November 21^st: Karma softly sang to the newborn to sleep, Mason checking on Josefina. “Merrick, huh?” The other kids were asleep, but Mason never slept well anymore, not until he knew the place was secure. Josefina was safe in her room. She’d been surprisingly open to admitting her brother was terrible, but she also wasn’t happy about her brother likely being dead at American hands. She accepted Mason and Woods, though: she knew they wouldn’t hurt her.

“Yeah. My mate was army: Nicholas Merrick, and so was his dad, Clyde Merrick. I found out I was expecting a week after I got the news, and I already had 4 other pups…a month after is when Menendez found me. I was desperate for money, and he said he’d pay me if I obeyed, and kill them all if I didn’t. I…did what he told me to do, and then I found out the army was after him, and I…bolted. Didn’t want their reputation to get smudged because I’m no fighter.” Mason double checked the door was locked. “Is he…dead?” He checked the windows as he responded,

“Might as well be. CIA never buries people like him alive, but we won’t be seeing him again.”

Chapter 12: 1989-1991, March

Chapter Text

1989, May 20^th: “Ma’am, why isn’t your husband here?”

“He couldn’t get off of work.” She said with a sigh, waiting for the surrogate to come out of surgery.

“I just want to reiterate the dangers of two alphas raising someone who is most likely going to be-”

“87% chance of omega, 12 of beta, and 1 of alpha. I know. We’ve been to every doctor for advice and to learn the medical stuff, support groups on parenting, and the amount of research I have done on nesting alone…I was raised by two omega parents, as was my husband, and we have read every book in the library on raising pups. We can handle it.”

“Books are no substitute for experience.” She rounded on the nurse, snapping,

“A new parent, no matter WHAT gender, HAS NO EXPERIENCE! My husband and I can be just as good parents as an omega could, and I will not let you talk down on him or myself because of our gender. This is exactly what I don’t want for my child.”

“Sorry, ma’am. And the name?”

“Keegan. Keegan Patrick Russ. He’ll be proud of who he is, no matter what people tell him.”

1990, August 12^th: “The apex is back.”

“Again?” Konig tried to make himself smaller as the commander came out. “Kilgore…you’re forcing my hand. You’re banned from tryouts.” Konig stifled a heartbroken whine: it would be taken as aggressive even if it was just pain. “44 times. You’re too big, and too…apex, Kilgore.” Too aggressive. Too dangerous. Visceral. Konig nodded, and shuffled away, heartbroken.

1991, March 7^th: “Sir.” She said softly, checking over the files.

“Good news, world’s in great shape.”

“What do you have, sir?”

“Civil war in Russia: loyalists versus Ultranationalists. 15K nukes at sake.”

“Just another day.” Holly sighed, glancing at her picture frame. What had the world been reduced to, pops?

“Khaled Al-Asad is the second most powerful man in the Mid East. Word is he’s got the balls to be top dog. Intel’s keeping an eye.” Holly nodded absentmindedly.

“Bad news?”

“New guy’s joining, from Scotland.” She groaned. “Called IRIS.”

“Iris?” Holly muttered. I Require Intense Supervision? “Tell me that’s their real name.”

“Nope.” He said with a lip pop. She groaned. “He’s in Creden Hill.”

“He’s a real FNG…I’ll be there in a tic, 0630.” She boarded a plane, heading out as she read his file and called her brother.

“Joshua, how you holding?”

“Good, good. Petrica’s not too fond of me right now, though: didn’t like me teaching John swears. You?”

“Fine. Got a new FNG named Iris joining up: last name…MacTavish.”

“A Scot in SAS? Bizarre.” Holly grunted.

“And don’t teach your kid swears. Patty will have a cow. Gotta go, kisses.”

“Kisses.”

He hated the nickname Iris, but after the DISASTER that was his first mission, he couldn’t really fault Smoke for naming him that. To lighten the bruised ego, he explained he’d been called Smoke after misusing a smoke grenade and blinding his own squad. “Captain Price wants to see you. Don’t piss her off.”

“Got it, sir.” He entered the room just as he heard,

“FNG, sir. Go easy, it’s his first day.”

“Right. Hell kind of name is Iris?” He smiled awkwardly. “Drop the grin, you sod.” Yup, about the response he’d expected. Everyone and their mother knew what a hardball Holly Price was. “Time for the CQB test. The rest of you lot head to observation. Run it solo in less than 60 seconds. Smoke’s got the record at 32 since the upgrades.” Iris got through in 34.

“I’ve seen better. Come over here for debrief.” He came over gingerly. “Alright, cargo mission’s a go. Get sorted: wheels up at 0200. Dismissed.” She stalked out, and Iris leaned over.

“She’s a f*cking hooer.” Smoke raised an eyebrow.

“You willing to say that to her face?”

“Bloody hell, no! She’ll skin me with a look.” Smoke laughed, smiling as he gave a curt nod.

“Go get ready, mate. She gets worse in the morning.” Iris swore again.

1991, March 8^th: Captain Price may be a hardball, but she was efficient as all hell. The entire mission was half-done by the time 5 minutes passed. Then it went tit* up: enemy aircraft, the ship blowing up around them. Absolute wreck. If it wasn’t for Holly’s instant reactions and orders, they’d all be dead. “You broken?”

“No, sir. Just feel like sh*te.” She scoffed.

“Make it shiny, then. We’re still on mission.” Iris nodded, and noticed something.

“Russia? What the f*ck?” She gave a curt nod with a scowl.

“Keep your holes tight, Iris, and check your damn corners. You’re on watch.” It was a hot mess and confusing as hell. Evidently, they were after an informant of some kind: Price wasn’t forthcoming with details, even as they cleared the house-

“Not him, he’s our guy.” The guy smelled like potatoes, and was speaking rapid Russian. “English.”

“Sorry, not…good speaker.” He managed to get out, Smoke supporting him along to exfil. “Attack on…Al-Asad?”

“In a few hours, why?”

“It mistake. They die.” Price tensed.

“Why? What’s there?” He was struggling: Damn, Iris was wishing he knew Russian right now- “Missile!” She covered the Russian, and when Iris came to, she was yanking him up. “Keep low. We’ve got to let the US know something’s wrong. Casper’s at the safe house: he speaks Russian and we have long distance radio there, 10 clicks. Move. Iris, you’re with Ivan: keep him alive.” Ivan. That was the Russian’s name.

1991, March 9^th: They got out and to the safe house quick enough. An alpha with sunglasses on was waiting, speaking Russian. Ivan looked relieved and frantically gestured and spoke. All the color drained from what was likely Casper’s face. “Get the US, now.” co*ckney. “They’ve got a nuke.”

“A what?” Price echoed faintly, already contacting people as Casper asked a question.

“A nuke, mid-east, right where Al-Asad is meant to be.”

“Get me whoever’s in charge of the Al-Asad strike, we’ve got a major problem.” She covered the receiver. “Casper, keep him talking: we need all the details he knows. Mayday, Mayday on the Asad strike. Asad’s got a nuke: again, Asad’s got a nuclear warhead. It’s not a bloody possible, it’s confirmed! Get your blokes out!” It was too late. Holly heard the news, and closed her eyes. Basrah, gone. Millions dead, all at the hands of Russians that were going to blame America, since it was their nuke. Ivan continued talking hurriedly. Casper said, tense,

“Ivan says Asad would never sacrifice himself. He’s got a location in Azerbaijan has used a few times, putting in coordinates.”

“Let’s go. You lot broken?”

“Not yet. Just very, very pissed off.” Smoke snarled.

“Keep your center. We’ve got sh*t to do. Casper, you’re with Iris. Smoke, with me-don’t f*ck up and keep it tight.”

1991, March 10^th: Iris noticed how close Casper stuck with him, even if he was dead silent the entire time. He asked eventually, “So what’s your specialty?”

“Interrogation. Yours?”

“Combat.” Casper nodded as Price went to town on Asad, Casper barking the questions to him in Arabic.

“I want his f*cking name!” Smoke called,

“He just got a text. Someone named Perseus?” Holly shot the man in the skull, swearing.

“Perseus. He wants the US to burn. Don’t know much else: he’s a ghost. Time to dig him up. ETA on the heli?”

“Half an hour.”

“We’ll be dead in 10 when the Russians come to claim what’s left of this bastard.” She kicked his leg with a scowl. “Alright, set some mines up in this building. We clear out along this route, and hide out in the field for evac. Questions?”

“Let’s do this, sir.” Iris grinned. Holly scowled but said nothing. It was an absolute nightmare and a blur of gunfire and blood not his own. But they got out with America’s help. And a man in sunglasses was inside.

“My name is Agent Adler. I’ve been told you have evidence Perseus resurfaced.”

“Sure as f*ck we do.” Smoke snarled, Holly handing him the phone with the evidence.

“Call in whoever you need to. This man is responsible for killing over 4 million people.”

“More than that, ma’am. I have 2 men on the ground already: they have past experience with this target. We recently discovered he has a son: Zakhaev is his taken name.”

“And the punk will know where this bastard is?” Holly pressed. He nodded. Casper smiled.

“Then let’s get him.” Holly and Adler were discussing things as they flew there, Casper asking quietly. “You holding up, Iris?”

“Aye, just wasn’t expecting all this in my first week.” Casper chuckled.

“I get the feeling. It doesn’t get better, mate. Do anything for fun?”

“I knit.”

“KNIT? Geez, mate…I play DDR: way better.”

“Says who?”

“Boys.”

“Boss?” Both of them stated, straightening as Holly cleared her throat.

“Iris, you’re in the tower with one of theirs named Woods until they get past the wall: as soon as it goes loud, get in your comfort zone. Enemy uniforms.” They all changed rapidly as she continued speaking, “Casper, you’re at the gate with one of theirs: your Russian’s flawless and evidently, so is Mason’s. Smoke, you’re inside the wall with me and Adler. Questions?”

“No, sir.” He climbed up once they were in-and saw an omega there, scowling.

“You look like a f*cking clown in that. You look nothing like a Russian.”

“Good thing I’m up here, then, aye? Forgot America let megs in the army.”

“That’s a f*cking slur, dumbass.” It WAS?

“Oh. Sorry, mate. Didn’t know.”

“Could tell by tone.” He grumbled, watching the road.

“Enemy convoy on route, 6 vehicles.”

“Roger that. Nobody fires a shot until I give the order.” Russian went over comms, Casper stating,

“Visual on target: third vehicle. Walking by now.”

“Need him alive, so watch fire.” Adler barked. Woods gritted his teeth. Holly said softly,

“Standby. Steady. Smoke them.” The tower went down, and Iris went with Woods after the man.

“Woods, we need him alive!”

“I f*cking copy!” They cornered him on the roof, and he raised a gun to his head.

“Drop it!” He fired. “sh*t.” Holly scowled, and called over radio,

“Zakhaev’s dead. We’re coming home.” Woods grabbed Mason’s hand, the man muttering in Russian. Casper slowly turned to face him, looking horrified. Iris leaned over.

“What’s he saying?”

“He’s listing names and saying numbers. I think he’s cracked.”

“He ain’t cracked: he’s as solid as a f*cking rock. Just speaks Russian sometimes to calm down.” Right…

“Perseus will retaliate. Your squad is coming with us to watch for when he does.”

1991, March 11^th: “Cap!” Smoke called, Holly looking over as he gestured to the screen.

“He took over a bloody Russian nuke silo?!” Iris snapped, Woods scowling with Mason.

“It’s simple, then. Reclaim the silo, or the world ends.” Holly stated flatly. The mission was a go in a rush. Adler got captured and Price ordered them to get him out.

“Thought you were going to leave me behind.”

“I f*cking would have.” Woods snarled.

“Frank.” Came the soft call from Mason in English. “Glad you’re back in the fight, Adler. We’re waiting for the power cut.”

“And down for 5, 4, 3-”

“We’re clear. Let’s save the world.” Iris had to admit, these guys were good. Mason was definitely not solid, no matter what Woods said, but he was solid enough. “Woods, Adler, sniper fire. I’ll get you guys in-”

“Mayday, mayday, we’ve got 2 launches!” Smoke shouted into comms. Mason boosted them over the wall as command called,

“Tracking now. We’re contacting the Russians for abort codes.”

“Copy all.” Mason was gone, and then came a tank-

“Tank in front of Iris is friendly: I swiped it.”

“Bloody hell, Mason!” Iris gasped, following Holly inside.

“Ярко горят огни свободы!” He laughed in Russian. Casper translated,

“Fires of freedom burn bright, whatever the hell that means.” When Mason cleared the area, he jumped the tank and blew it up. “Hop in the vents!”

“You’ve got 11 minutes to get those launch codes in that we are still working on getting.”

“Copy all.” Iris found Casper and stabbed a man in the back that was trying to shoot him in the back.

“Check those corners, mate!”

“Cover me: let’s get those codes in!” They got to launch control, but the doors were painfully slow.

“Smoke, can’t these doors open faster?”

“Negative, feel free to pull if it makes you feel better.”

“Cheeky blighter.” She mumbled. Iris was the first one in, Holly snapping, “Smoke, codes!”

“Cleared!”

“Confirmation incoming-”

“Adler here: get your asses out of there. There’s a whole army coming in.” Woods called, hopping in the truck,

“We’re getting beers after this: iced!”

“Lagers should be cold, not beer.” Mason chuckled.

“We’ll try it both ways, then. Frank.” Frank was behind the wheel in a second, and they shot off. Holly barked,

“Smoke, put fire on those trucks! Iris, grenades! Woods, can you go faster?”

“If you want to die!”

“If you don’t, go FASTER!” She snapped angrily. They crashed, Mason and Woods protecting them as they tried to get away from the collapsing bridge-Woods got shot in the shoulder, him folding like it was a skull hit. Iris raised his gun as people came closer, breathing heavily as he killed all 3 before blacking out.

1991, March 14^th: The bastard Russians that got them out claimed Mason had been killed. Iris and Price didn’t believe it for a second, and Adler and Woods shared a knowing look. Adler called them back, but Woods paused Iris’ squad. “Take a breath. Recover. And execute.” Casper smirked knowingly as Iris just blinked, bewildered.

“We’ll recover, that’s for sure.” Iris was definitely missing something that was shared secretly. Casper leaned over, whispering,

“Recover HIM.” OHH.

Chapter 13: 1991

Chapter Text

1991, September 12^th: Iris groaned about his new assignment as the official team liaison. “Why me, the FNG…”

“Because you’re charismatic. Can’t go wrong with a Scot.” Casper offered. “Russia’s still claiming Perseus as a national hero with the Ultranationalists in charge right now. Civil war’s still happening: we’ll see if they stay in charge.”

“Can’t we just see what’s going on in the isles, not in all these other places? I’m getting tired of all the flights.”

“Then sleep, Iris.” Casper taunted, putting in earbuds.

“I can’t: it’s all turbulence and shaking-” Price appeared, the lady looking frantic.

“Massacre in a Russian airport. America’s taking blame, but SAS and US Army Rangers knew it was an op to take down Perseus.” They all started prepping, Smoke asking,

“Who’s the target?”

“Alex the Red, or Alejandro Rojas. He supplied the assault.”

“So he’s our ticket to Perseus.” Casper stated.

1991, September 16^th: Iris grimaced as his stomach rolled. “f*cking hell, I hate long rides.”

“You’re too squeamish for SAS, mate.” Casper joked. Then the target shot at them, and they went after him on foot. Casper shot him in the leg without hesitating.

“Nice. Smoke, Meat, we’re going to check out the favela for signs of the HVT. Casper, make him talk.”

“It’s be my pleasure, Iris.” It went to hell near instantly. Meat died within two minutes when Casper called over comms,

“Got him: west along upper levels of the favela.”

“Smoke, cut him off! Casper, on the double!”

“On my way!” It was familiar, but Iris tackled him out of the window onto a car, right in front of Smoke and Casper. “Told you he wouldn’t get away. Frontrunner, Iris. We’ve got the package. I repeat, we’ve got the package.”

“Bullocks, skies are clear-we’re on our own, Iris.” Casper smirked as he leaned over Alex. “Maybe I can get a turn with him?”

“Come on, sunshine, keep it professional.”

“I am. I just enjoy my career.”

“We read you, first battalion, 75^th ranger regiment. Sargeant Foly acting commander of Hunter 2-1. Do you copy, over?” Ramirez looked up, confused as Foley looked panicked for a second. “Come again? sh*t. Boys, let’s move: skywatchers are down, and last record said we’re under attack.” But this was meant to be just a routine training set: that’s why their actual commander wasn’t even HERE in Virginia. He looked up-hundreds of bogeys, people parachuting down.

“Oh, my god.” They radioed for air support, but got some bullsh*t answer.

“Sarge, did HQ just tell us to go f*ck ourselves?”

“Pretty much. Let’s keep it tight and smart. I have heat suppressants if needed: there’s no telling how long we’ll be here.” Ramirez was not panicking. Sure, he’d never been in a real fight before, but he wasn’t inexperienced, per se. He had training to fall back on. His main concern is if the invasion was this far inland, what was NYC like? Was his family safe? He was securing the Burger Town as he speed-dialed Vanessa.

“James! Are you okay?”

“Better now. In the middle of a fire fight: what’s New York like?”

“We’re in a bunker, safe and secure. I love you: come home alive.”

“Order received, V. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” Foley barked,

“Ramirez! Were you just calling a civilian?!”

“Had to make sure they were okay, Sarge! My head’s here now!”

“Keep it that way! We’re going to Arcadia!”

“All I got was the only guy Perseus hates more than Americans is locked in a gulag.” Iris nodded at Holly.

“I know a lady who owes me a favor. I need a payphone.” He dialed the number. “Aunt Gertrude, I need a pilot to get to Brazil.”

“I’ll be there in an hour.” Casper looked at him in amusem*nt.

“Gertrude? AUNT?!”

“I got her and Uncle Gary Boyz II Men tickets.” Iris dismissed with a sigh. “They’re on vacation in Mexico right now.”

“What the f*ck, you’re calling family into a warzone?” Price demanded. Iris defended,

“We need a ride out of here, she’s closest. Aunt G, got you hooked up to comms. Casper, Smoke, Price, meet me aunt.”

“Hello, ma’am.” They chorused with a chortle.

“Hello, boys. How hot are we going?”

“Indian.” She whistled.

“I do not want to know what kind of party you boys were just in.” They jumped the roof, and flew off.

“So, how come you’ve never mentioned such a lovely woman before?” Smoke snigg*red. Gertude smiled.

“I’m happily married, and he probably forgot my name. There’s so many of us MacTavish’s, you know.”

“Eh?” Iris said tiredly,

“I currently have 47 family members just including first cousins, aunts, uncles, and siblings.” They all choked. “And I think one of me other aunts is expecting? Hence why I don’t mention them. Anyways, we’re going to a Gulag next, Auntie.”

“Ooh, spicy. Gary, why don’t we relive our honeymoon~?”

“Ugh, bloody hell, NO! we’re going to a base to meet up with other soldiers. Thanks for the lift, Auntie.”

“Any time. Makes me miss the old days.”

Ramirez was now escorting the tank called Honey Badger to the emergency evac station. His muscles were tired. A entire day of constant alertness and gunfire: how do people do multiple DAYS of this? The answer hit him as he watched one of his friends get shot because he closed his eyes too long. Survival. They did it because they wanted to survive. The HVT was dead, but he grabbed the suitcase. The hell was going on…?

1991, September 17^th: Iris was not enjoying the water mission. It just wasn’t his natural state. He could still do it. he cleared out the hostages naturally. That was part of his skillset and training. Casper was gentle with all of the terrified civies, and hostile with all the enemies. Exactly as SAS intended. “All hostages secured. Ready for Phase two.”

“Hey, what did your Auntie do?”

“Her? Protests in the 70s according to her: there’s are other family rumors saying she wasn’t so friendly. Gulag’s built to withstand a missile strike. We get this guy out, we clear out.”

“Got it.” It went about as Iris expected, and as they breeched the wall-he groaned, looking up from the ground to see Mason standing over him with an icy look in his eyes. He blinked rapidly.

“Mason?”

“…Iris.” He lowered the weapon, tilting his head, and spoke Russian. Once out, Casper translated bluntly,
“He’s asking how f*cked are we?”

“To the f*cking knot. US is getting attacked and blamed for a massacre in Russia, caused by Russians.” Iris didn’t need to speak Russian to know he was swearing.

Ramirez tried not to look at all the injured people as he met up with Foley. They’d been transferred to the capital of Virginia, to clear the people out. “Evac site’s getting hit hard, and we need to buy time. Hooah?”

“Hooah, sir.” Ramirez nodded firmly. They got as many people out before their chopper crashed. Wade shoved a gun in his hand while he was too disoriented to hear, then the adrenaline forced him alert when Wade died in front of him. He followed his squad to a building, taking a steadying breath as he followed Foley outside into the dark streets besides the fires. A runner called frantically,

“I don’t remember the counter sign, please don’t shoot! I’m just a runner: don’t shoot!”

“It’s Texas, soldier. What do you got?”

“Colonel Marshall’s assembling a task force at Whiskey Hotel. You need to keep heading north.” They went through a building as a shortcut, and it was infested with Russians. They got through, and kept moving, all the way into a bunker, likely from the cold war leftovers. They got back into the fight after a quick rest.

“When are we going to Moscow?”

“When we get orders to. Don’t go charging in a war, private. It never ends well.”

Mason was calling in his friend, Casper still functioning as a translator. Iris muttered, “Why isn’t he speaking English?”

“PTSD response by my guess.” Smoke muttered back.

“Okay, Woods. Him, Smoke, and Price are going to hit the vehicle disposal yard. Me, Iris, and Mason are going to hit the safehouse. Apparently, he’s melee, too, and their intel says safehouse is more likely close quarters. And you’re almost right for once, Smoke: he stops speaking English whenever stressed out, but it ain’t PTSD causing it officially. More split personality.”

“What?” Iris gaped. Mason waved him off.

“Nothing to worry about: he got the bad stuff handled ages ago.” There was no Perseus, but they got everything else before enemies swarmed. “He says not to trust Adler: from here out, it’s us, him, and Woods. Price?”

“Trust him. Woods was too aggressive, and Mason too defensive. Adler can’t be trusted. I called in a friend: we went through basic together.” Price had a friend? Iris caught Casper as he got hit in the gut, and lugged him onto the plane.

“You Price’s friend?”

“She said we’re friends? Then aye, I won’t be denying that honor. MacMillian at your service: sniper and very bad pilot, but I’ll get you out. Either of you a medic?” Mason gave a so-so, crouching beside Casper and setting to work. “Price, I am a very bad pilot, get here in one minute!” She threw an injured Woods in-Iris wasn’t sure how he was injured, but that was definitely his blood-and Smoke was gun-less with active blood pouring from his hands.

“Already here-Damn, Casper! I’ve got him, wrap Smoke’s hands!” Mason nodded curtly, setting to work. MacMillian said confidently, flying out with a grin,

“The only two you have left is the fellow Scot, you and me. Just like old times.”

“Yeah, well I don’t plan on making this a habit. Casper’s stable for now: Woods is patched up well enough. Mason, stay here. MacMillian, find a position for squirters: no one gets out alive. Iris, with me: Perseus is getting a confirmed kill. Everyone but us is a confirmed enemy: do not hesitate to fire.” The whole thing was a blur, but Iris was not oblivious to the massive f*cking knife in his chest when Price dragged him back onto the plane. “Mac, fly! FLY!”

1991, October 6^th: Iris woke to yelling. Someone was yelling at Price. He groaned, sitting up groggily. “Price?”

“Iris. Had me thinking you were dead for a bit.”

“Yeah, me too. Where am I?”

“Indian hospital. Thanks to some discovered files in Perseus’ man cave, we paused the war between America and Russia. The issue is-” Iris groaned.

“Russia’s still pissed off…” Price nodded.

“Everyone needs a villain. Russia doesn’t have one right now, and they can’t blame themselves. Can you move?” Iris nodded, wincing again. “Good. This is Yuri: he’s a defector from Russia and a doctor.” Yuri waved awkwardly. An omega? “He nursed you, Casper, Woods, and Mason here back to health.” Price said warily,

“MacMillian cleared him out a few years back for some reason he won’t share, so he’s solid, for a Russian. Speaking of-”

“We’re under attack by Ultranationalists?” Iris finished. Price nodded stiffly. After they fought their way out, he asked generically, “Anyone know we’re here?” Woods nodded with a scowl.

“We contacted Adler. He’ll be backing us with intel on the downlow, since we took care of his Perseus issue.” Casper offered, leaning back with a slight wince,

“What are we fighting now?” Woods revealed pictures.

“African military. They were moving something vital to Perseus’ plan.” Mason was zoned out, Yuri asking something nervously and him replying instantly. “Mas?”

“Da.” He instantly replied, nodding.

“Good. This is a sh*tshow. Yuri?” Casper translated,

“He knows how to use a gun, but he’s no soldier.”

“We’ll take it.” MacMillian said with a smile. “We need a medic, after all.” Yuri smiled as Mason translated to him, and they headed in. It got messy quick: turns out it may as well have been a trap. But Yuri didn’t just know how to use a gun: he could use ANY gun. Which was bizarre. Woods, he could understand: the US let omegas into their army. But Russia did not. They didn’t let omegas even hold jobs in most cases. They took down the helicopter, and Iris pried the container open. Yuri looked ill, pulling back at the weird canisters. Mason took a step forward, then his eyes widened.

“Nova 6. Steiner. Steiner-Woods!” Woods gripped his arm instantly, the panicked man rambling in Russian so quickly Iris was getting dizzy. Price looked at Woods in confusion.

“The hell is Nova 6?”

“A very, VERY dangerous chemical weapon. Mas, Mas look at me.” He was mumbling names under his breath in some kind of sick, feverish prayer. “Mason. ALEX.” He stopped abruptly, looking up. “They are dead. They are confirmed dead. This is Perseus’ plan. Perseus is also dead, but we have to stop his plan.” He nodded jerkily as comms opened.

“I’ve got new data. Bosaso, Somalia. Run by a Waraabe: he was going to get whatever the package was into Britian. And guess what? He was in Drago-”

“Pockets. Got it.” Woods cut off harshly as Yuri flinched just as much as Mason did. “We’ll stick out like sore thumbs: no stealth option.” Iris frowned. There was a very long history his squad was evidently not privy to, which was discomforting.

1991, October 8^th: Somalia was quite beautiful, Iris had to admit. Despite the many, many bullets being flung at them. Casper didn’t hold back anything on Waraabe: he was spilling his guts in seconds.

“Our contact was a beta named Volk, we never met Perseus! Volk is in Paris!” Casper nodded.

“We got our info-” Mason shot him in the skull. “And he says that was for Vorkuta?”

“Long story.” Woods dismissed tensely as they evac-ed. Price contacted someone in the France military, telling them about the situation of a known terrorist cell being active in Paris and giving everything she had.

1991, October 10^th: Adler contacted them, saying flatly and quickly, “Hotel Lustig. Perseus’ cabinet is having an official meeting the 14^th, at 1500.”

“We’re on the way now.” Price said briskly. “This is hostile and heavy civilian. Keep the gunfire low and precise: use knives whenever possible.” Mason and Woods nodded, Yuri anxiously holding the knife like his life depended on it. Evidently, his gun experience did not translate into knife experience. Iris had no such issues. This was HIS specialty: up close and personal. They kept it quiet and clean, and set up camp in the area. Yuri looked an absolute wreck.

“You solid?” Yuri blinked at him. Casper translated.

“Yeah, he’s just stressed about seeing the cabinets and all the fighting.”

1991, October 14^th: Just as Iris went in, he heard over comms Russian. He may not understand Russian, but he knew one thing: the person distinctly called Yuri by name. He charged back, Price lying next to an unconscious Yuri. MacMillian scooped her up, Iris grabbing Yuri as the others cover fired their escape. They got to safety, but Price stopped them all inside before Woods and Mason could separate again.

“You said it was a long story. Shorten it: vital info only. My men almost died.”

“…Mas?” He nodded vaguely, shaking as he continued to mutter under his breath while looking at Yuri. “Okay. Mason was held

prisoner for 2 years in a Russian gulag named Vorkuta. During which time, he was brainwashed into killed the president, then was unbrainwashed and brainwashed again by a man named Reznov to kill 3 terrorists: Dragovich, Kravchenko, and Steiner. Steiner invented Nova 6 for Dragovich. Perseus is a man who was involved with all that, and we’d been hunting him since ’86. Mason has issues from all that, but he is solid. So am I. What I don’t f*cking know-” He pinned Yuri to a wall, the small man yelping in terror, “-is why the sh*t they knew you!” Casper translated the semi-question, Yuri having tears in his eyes as he dangled there, held above the ground by about 2 inches above what he could reach with his feet.

“He’s speaking too fast for me to translate everything. He was near Basrah. He saw the nuke go off, right next to Perseus. He’s the one who told us the info we had: he just wanted to protect Russia. Perseus shot him in the airport massacre: MacMillian pulled him out and got him to a hospital. Why was-”

“He volunteers in relief efforts there for omegas: was probably getting off or on duty.” Price dismissed angrily. “He f*cking worked with Perseus? He worked with…We’re pulling out. I won’t work with a terrorist.” MacMillian went to speak, and Price snapped angrily, “NO. He worked with people who massacred millions, who framed that on a country and started a war that killed MORE. He is a terrorist.” MacMillian rubbed his forehead.

“You do what you think is right, Holly. I’m staying and getting this taken care of.”

Mason watched the British people pull out, MacMillian sighing heavily. “I don’t speak Russian: sorry.”

“That’s okay. Mas?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it.” He smiled shakingly, patting the sobbing Yuri’s shoulder.

“I just wanted to save my grandson from the fate I had…I wanted to protect my home and my family…”

“No one blames you here: we’re all just trying to survive this sh*t. Now, we’re going full black ops.”

“Hell, yeah, we are. Mac, I can’t speak Russian, but I understand it. I’ll translate for him, and Mason will translate for you. We’re going all black, wet.” MacMillian smiled.

“Sounds good. Let’s do this.”

“Yuri, you’re our medic. Mac, you’re the sniper. Woods and I will go in: execute the council. Mac will kill any squirters, and Yuri will guard the plane from anyone destroying it and get us patched up when this inevitably goes sour.”

“Solid plan. Let’s do this fast and clean. Surgical like.” Mason chuckled. He’d always appreciated British humor. It was endearing to him. It actually went far smoother than most of their missions, and they got out without anyone in addition getting hurt. He took a deep breath as he took a seat for one last plane ride. MacMillian asked, “Any plans?”

“Retiring.” Yuri laughed, Woods frowning.

“I…don’t recognize that word.”

“I do: it’s universal. He’s retiring. I wish I could, but until I find a good man to take command by the balls, I cannot. Yuri?” Yuri shook his head.

“I am going home. To be killed, sold…it does not matter anymore. I fixed my error, with your help, and regardless of my choices…my grandson’s fate is sealed. Goodbye, my friends. I will remember you.” Mason gave him a salute. He couldn’t handle someone else at his house, even if he didn’t want the man to die…

Chapter 14: 1992-1999

Chapter Text

1992, January 25^th: “Fatima! Are you well-” Walid swore as he saw the blood. “FATIMA?!”

“I-I am well, my love.” She said softly, holding a bundle in her arms. She gave birth! He chirped in happiness, hugging his mate. “What shall her name be?”

“Farah, Fatima. Look at her smile. Her happiness shall fuel our own. Hadir! Come meet your sister: is she not a wonderful gift?”

1992, July 11^th: Aunt Holly never talked about the last year. John liked her stories: he didn’t know why she wouldn’t talk about these ones when the others were okay. He also knew that his family didn’t like Russians anymore. Any Russian. He didn’t know why: they were just having a bad time from what his teachers said. But Aunt Holly hated them. His dad hated them, blamed them for something called a ‘massacre’. His mom hated them, accuse them of something called ‘genocide’. He didn’t know what those words meant yet. He couldn’t spell them, so couldn’t look them up in the dictionary. He knew a city somewhere in some place called the ‘middle east’ was gone. And folks died protecting other cities from being gone, too. Now, he knew he was only 7, and grownups talked weird, but he didn’t think a city could be ‘gone’. That didn’t make sense at all!

1996, June 25^th: Everyone in their entire community was in their home, the beta woman laughing as she shook her head. “Well, we know he’ll well loved, don’t we?” Her husband chuckled, too, hand on her back to support. It had only been 2 days. The doctors said she would recover quickly, but he still wanted to protect her.

“Kyle Garrick, never think you don’t belong somewhere. You’ve got 27 people backing you in this pack.”

1997, August 15^th: She didn’t want a pup. Not with him. It was bad enough when she didn’t have someone to protect. But once he’d found out she was expecting…she couldn’t get away. So she stayed. He had blacked out, drunk in the waiting room as she kissed her baby. “I’m so sorry, Simon. I don’t think I can protect you as well as I wish I could, but I’ll do what I can…”

1999, October 29^th: Farah couldn’t breathe, clawing at the stone above her as the sirens and smell of iron filled her lungs. “Mama?” She said weakly, seeing her mama’s eyes wide and unblinking. She kept clawing at the rubble, tears burning through the smoke and dust. What happened? She didn’t know. So many hands grabbed at her, pulling her out and handing her to her baba: he clung to her, sniffing her neck intensely to calm his heart she could hear.

“You’re alright-”

“M-mama-” She choked out as the woman was unmoving. She felt the agony in her father’s scent, but he held her tightly.

“Where is Hadir? Where is your brother?”

“A-at home, to study…” She sobbed, clinging to him desperately as there was so many sounds and screams and-she buried her head into his shoulder. “Baba!”

“Don’t be afraid, sweetheart, we’re together.” People’s blood was everywhere, and her father told her to follow in his gentle but commanding tone. So she did, struggling to keep up. Hadir was okay, and her father continued to use his commanding tone he used when he needed them to listen quickly, like when the bombs had first started. Hadir was far braver than she was: she was so scared but Hadir held his head so proudly…she grabbed a weapon as her father fought the intruder, stabbing him in the leg as he screamed in Russian and shot wildly. She couldn’t breathe, but kept fighting, because there was no choice. Hadir managed to pin the man, already far stronger than Farah, and she obeyed his orders to kill him, because she had to. She shot him, and could only smell blood.

“Do not be afraid, Farah. We are together.” She nodded weakly, saying softly,

“W-we have to check his body.” They searched him with shaking hands, trying to find…something they didn’t know they were looking for, but they couldn’t pick him up. She took his mask. Baba had said they needed a mask. They couldn’t save their baba: the blood was too thick, too gone…

“What do we do?”

“Survive. Whatever it takes. Never back down…” They scrambled to reach the lock, Farah whimpering out,

“Goodbye, Baba. I love you…” They snuck through everything as everyone was dying. Hadir paused at each body, Farah having to tell him to keep moving. A man grabbed off Hadir’s mask, but he reclaimed it as quickly as he could, a cough almost instantly forming, but they were away from the toxic gas. She tried to be brave. She had to get her brother away, to safety. So she stole a gun, and scrambled around, desperate to escape as she shot two men and helped Hadir get inside the truck-a big man grabbed them, shoving them in the truck as he hissed,

“So you’re the devils that killed my soldiers.” She was hit twice and thought no more.

1999, November 12^th: She didn’t expect the hard man to come and say hello to the newborn. Elias had never been very…soft with anything, even if he cared more than anyone would ever know. Except for her and this little one. “He loves you, David. He’s just not very good with the gentler parts of life. You’ll see how much he cares one day…”

Chapter 15: 2000-2001

Chapter Text

2000, April 4^th: Why. Why did it have to be the FOURTH day of the FOURTH month? Her mate was going to kill her. But…he looked strong. She settled back down as she looked into his eyes. Perhaps the gods had looked kindly on her after all these years, and given her an alpha pup. Wasn’t that right, Eun-ji?

2000, July 10^th: Iris puffed a smoke, taking a deep breath as the warmth returned to his fingers. Sometimes, the thought of being an omega and not freezing his tit* off in Kazakhstan for some sh*te intel sounded really nice. Then he remembered how everyone in his family was an alpha and how isolating being the only omega would be. So he decided to cut that thought off. “Breaks over, sunshine.” Casper scoffed.

“Do you have to call me that every time?”

“Abso-f*cking-lutely.” He chuckled as they shuffled along.

“How’d a bloke like you get to be cap before me?”

“Sheer gall, sunshine. No one can get enough Scotsmen in their life. Let’s get this intel and get our arses warm again.” Casper and him had done this sh*te so often it was second nature. They barely needed to talk anymore other than to sass one another. Once they exfil-ed (under heavy fire, but they got out), Casper asked,

“Plans for leave?”

“Aye. One of me aunts is having a big f*cking litter any time now.”

“How big we talking here?”

“7.” Casper swore. “Aye, I’ve got too many cousins and nephews, I’ll tell you. Can’t keep them straight.”

“Isn’t that 100 at this point?”

“89 living relatives, unless you count the H’s, who cut contact when they moved to America. No clue why: gran won’t say.”

“They generally alphas, betas…?”

“Generally? Mate, we haven’t had anything but an alpha come out from our family tree since my great-gran. You?”

“Going to see a Bone Licker concert: pretty underground band. Like the rhythm.”

“Send me some of their stuff: I might like them meself.”

“Will do. Good luck learning all their names. 7 cousins in one go, damn.”

2000, July 14^th: Iris put out his cigarette before he went inside, sighing. “Archie!”

“Hey, mum. How’s it going-UGH!” The brickhouse of a woman rammed him so hard into her chest he forgot how to breath. “Was I that long? Ow. You good?”

“6 have come out now.” In 45 minutes? Damn, she was going for a record of fastest birth. “And the docs aren’t too sure the seventh will make it. It’s a lot smaller than the others, and it doesn’t move around much, neither.”

“Auntie will pull through.” He didn’t mention he couldn’t remember which aunt this even was: he had 12 of them, each with at least 4 kids. His mum waved him off.

“I’m not worried about my sister-in-law. I’m worried about the BABY.”

“I don’t know anything about birth: I was just saying what I do know.” The nurse came out with 3 bundles: one in each hand and one secured in her mouth. The massive crowd took them into their mass, Iris evading being told to hold them as the next 3 came out. It was an hour later a third nurse came out of the room.

“The seventh birth was a success: he’s staying with his mum for now.” Sighs of relief and cheers sounded. “She’s asking for her husband?” Uncle (Someone) went in with a grin. “And we have them all color coded and numbered. One is Jackie, two is Jamieson, three is Jock, four is Julian, five is Johnson, 6 is Jasper, and 7, with the parents, is Johnny.” Right. 10^th daughter, all J’s. Which mean she was Aunt Julia, like his mum was Anne, and all of his siblings were A’s, too. It kept things as simple as possible. f*ck, there were too many of them. He needed another smoke…

2001, May 27^th: She laughed as Elias shuffled in, looking noticeably uncomfortable as he held the 19-month-old that struggled in his unfamiliar hands. “I’m trying, okay?” He huffed in embarrassment, turning red.

“And I appreciate the effort, honey.” She got through her laughter, gesturing to the bundle in her hands. “Meet Logan, Elias.”

“He…looks like you.” He marveled. “How can a baby look like such a beautiful woman?” She laughed again, Elias setting the toddler down on her lap.

“I’m not sure, but David had your eyes when he was born, so I suppose it’s just a miracle we have to accept.”

2001, July 11^th: Evans was bouncing his leg in the car as John bounced excitedly in place. “Alright, calm yourself, boy.”

“Sorry, I’m just…really chuffed. And mum said you could sign me in, too?” He nodded vaguely.

“You need a packmate’s permission, and I wouldn’t sign if Patty didn’t approve. 86 and signing a 16 year old’s permission slip…” John laughed, slugging his arm lightly. “Any plans beyond army?”

“SAS one day.” He said confidently, then pausing briefly to consider. “And maybe some college, but that’s not in sights now.”

“Enough for me. Check your corners, John.” Evans stated, ruffling his hair as John grinned happily.

2001, August 20^th: Kate smiled at her parents, hugging her Zizi. “Remember to call us once you settle into classes!”

“I will, I will!” She laughed, squeezing tightly, and moving to her dad who was bawling.

“17 and in college…” She hugged him just as tightly.

“I’ll be okay, dad. I promise I’ll keep in contact and everything, really.”

“You better: I will come back for you if you don’t!”

2001, September 11^th: Holly barked, “John, you’re with Captain MacMillian.” He nodded stiffly to his aunt. He’d never seen her look so worried. “The US is in crisis right now, and so are we: we received notice the Russians are taking advantage of the confusion to get material from Chernobyl. Stop the sale, kill is authorized.” MacMillian was actually a very, very old man. He smiled, offering a hand John took.

“Nice to be working with a young man again.” Scottish. He kept meeting the Scots, huh? “Chernobyl was Christmas for bad guys. They’re still using it to get nuclear material, including our target.”

“I’ve never heard of a kill being authorized.”

“I’m not surprised. There hasn’t been one since World War II. What do you think of that?”

“Sir?” John asked, puzzled.

“The key to surviving the military, son, is thinking for yourself, despite what people tell you. You have to live with what you do, who you leave behind, and how you fix the problems. So what do you think of a kill order?”

“…It’s a bit strange, it taking so long to get authority to neutralize such a dangerous man.”

“Heh. You’ll be a good one, yet. Keep up, and watch the radiation pockets. No one will see us in those ghillie’s unless you’re daft, and you don’t seem too daft.” John chuckled lightly.

“Try not to be, sir. But…why aren’t we going after Osama Bin Laden?”

“Oh, he’ll learn his lesson, son. America doesn’t f*ck around when you attack in their borders. Ask Japan, or Perseus, though that one’s dead. Our job is to watch the others that are using the blinders on them for Bin Laden to cause more problems later on. Keep it dry on the books, wet on the ops. How the job works, son: we just have to live in it.” The start of the mission was scary clean. MacMillian may have been an old man, but he knew how to move fast and silent, and they set up. 3 days they were up there, MacMillian telling stories, making awful coffee cold, and explaining different things to John. It was early morning when MacMillian went quiet. “Meeting’s underway. Enemy transport sighted entering target area.” John killed the target. And then shot down the heli. “Alright, they’re onto us like dogs on a bone, we’ve got to move. On me.” John followed, quiet but observing everything. Then a second helicopter cut into MacMillian’s legs. John paused for half a second, then slung the man onto his shoulders. “You’ll have to set me down to fire your weapon: I’ll assist as I can.” His voice was choked with pain but still clear. “Extraction is to the southwest: can still make it if we hurry. It gets too close, drop me.”

“If you don’t make it, I don’t make it. That’s my limit, sir.” MacMillian laughed weakly.

“Always good to know your limits, son.” It was a hot exfil like Price had never heard of. But he managed to get the captain out alive. “You’ll get a brag rag yet.”

“Don’t want one, sir. I’d rather have my mates alive than some chest candy.”

“Aye, you’ll do well.”

Chapter 16: 2002-2003

Chapter Text

2002, October 10^th: “Keegan, please!” She cried, holding the small child back from sinking his jaws into the offender’s neck. It had been a struggle ever since he’d presented as the expected omega 2 months ago. Something about alphas made him go into an unstoppable frenzy. The doctors didn’t know anything about the cause, only the trigger: alpha tone. It was an instant death threat for anyone who dared use the tone within his earshot. “I’m so sorry-” She started, only for the man to snap angrily,

“You need to keep your flipdick under control.” She saw red, and said flatly,

“Hold Keegan, Shane.” He nodded, holding the now limp 13-year-old a clean foot off the ground as Doris tore into the man for using a slur against a child. What was wrong with people? He asked gently to Keegan,

“You okay?” Keegan nodded miserably.

“I…don’t know why I keep doing this. I-I even attacked mom last night…” Doris had a massive gauze pad and tape covering the bite mark on her arm that glared against her skin. Keegan started tearing up. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to, honest.”

“We know, baby. We’ll find someone who knows why, I promise.”

2003, March 7^th: Thomas grinned, rolling his shoulders. “GO!” He jumped in the water: not nearly as cold as he was used to. Made it way easier. He counted the seconds: 595 seconds: fast enough. “Push-ups!” He didn’t count the seconds here: it was demoralizing as Uncle Woods was fond of saying. He instead focused on how many he could do. 102: that was enough, too. “Sit-ups!” These were harder for him: he was naturally stocky and sit-ups were harder due to that. He still managed 82. “Pull-ups!” He did 28 before calling it: he still needed energy for the run. “RUN!” He remembered going cross country while carrying Aunt Josefina: she’d wanted to see the shore and he was willing to carry her to accomplish that. He counted the seconds here, too. 573. Fast enough. “Alright, we’ll take a look at your score, kid, and see where you landed.” He already knew his ASVAB score was high enough: so was his CSORT. He made a 3. He was happy with that one. As soon as he got the letter, he was dancing around his room happily, beaming as he waited for the line to connect.

“Hello?”

“Uncle Woods! I did it: I’m in!” He heard cheers from everyone, mom being the loudest. A soft,

“Good work, kid. I’m proud of you.” From Uncle Mason made him beam even wider.

2003, September 9^th: Simon was screaming inside his mind as he bolted for the bathroom. What the hell was going on? He collapsed to the ground, his very TEETH aching. Why was this happening at SCHOOL?! He was already weird and alone, he didn’t want to be a freak, too! He looked in the mirror-why were his teeth pointy? He felt tears welling up as his stomach felt like a red-hot knife was scrambling it like an egg, hitting the cool ground to try and stop the pain. He wasn’t sure how long he was in the restroom, but it was long enough people were starting to come in before he had the pain under control. So he hid in one of the stalls, curling up into the bathroom as hot and heavy tears splattered all over his tattered clothing.

“Simon? Your teacher said you were still in here. What’s wrong?” The school nurse was outside of his safe area. They should know something: they had helped a lot with other stuff.

“I-I think I’m dying?” He offered, the only solution he could think of.

“Could you unlock the door so I can be sure?” They asked gently, Simon hesitantly obeying. They offered a hand and took him to the nurse’s office, where they looked over him with kind eyes. “…Simon, have you been under a lot of stress lately?”

“W-when have I not been stressed?” He asked genuinely. The nurse nodded absently.

“Could I see your teeth?” He wasn’t sure why, but he listened. “Ah. Well, I can say with certainty you are not dying.”

“T-then what’s happening? It hurts…”

“Yes, presenting is always a painful process. Do you know what presenting is?” He shook his head. “It’s what people experience when their bodies change. It’s similar to puberty, but a bit different, because it’s when your body is choosing what gender to be: alpha, beta, or omega.” Oh. He knew those. His mommy was an omega, and his father was an alpha. It meant something important, but he wasn’t sure what: mommy always said he was too young to know about it yet: he was supposed to be 8.

“But you’re supposed to find that out when you’re like 13 or so. I’m 6.” They nodded.

“Well, sometimes when we’re stressed, our bodies trigger things to happen a lot sooner than they do normally.”

“Oh…w-well, what am I?”

“You get to decide that, but your gender is an omega boy.” Oh. The one thing he did know was omegas were weak, and omega boys were abominations against nature for turning into women during heat (whatever that was). Father was going to kill him.

2003, November 12^th: Terri’s jaw dropped as she saw her. “Holy cow.” Her friend laughed.

“Yup, every guy’s dream.” She was beautiful. Golden hair, blue eyes. Fit as a lion as she ran the track with the ease of a lazy jog when she was practically a blur. “Don’t get attached. She looks hot, but her attitude is pure ice and gall. Perfect example of ‘too pretty to be arrested’. Throws the wildest parties, but no one can prove anything by next morning. And she’s only interested in fancy suits: big dreams in her head with no time for romance.”

“f*ck, she’s perfect…” Terri was yanked forward by her friend, the guy waving her down.

“Hey, Kate! I want to introduce you to my buddy, Terri Ramirez! She’s a freshman this year.” Kate paused, looking over her with a blank expression as she kept running in place.

“Oh, yeah. I saw you over on the field yesterday. You beat like 7 alphas’ asses.” It was said accusatorily, and Terri snapped angrily,

“They were trying to get a friend to swing at them. So I did instead.”

“Why not just get your friend away?”

“And leave them to be jumped another day? I’d rather address an issue immediately.” Kate nodded vaguely, then smiled.

“I like you. Come hang out at my place tomorrow: I’m having a get together with my buddies.” Terri raised an eyebrow. “Party, my place, tomorrow at 9.” Terri scoffed, smiling back.

“Alright, I’ll bite, Kate. See you there.” Her friend leaned over as Kate got back to her run,

“You definitely want to bite something~”

“Oh, shut up.”

Chapter 17: 2005, May

Chapter Text

2005, February 22^nd: Keegan was hiding as the gunfire echoed around him, blinking rapidly. What the hell was going on? His parents had gone to find a doctor a few hours ago, talking about something. At least he knew what the issue was: something called Alpha Defiance Disorder. Any time he heard that tone, his body responded aggressively instead of submissive like other omegas did, at such high levels he may as well be entering a feral state. He was prescribed some meds that were meant to block the aggressive response to where he could at least have a shot to stop himself (he didn’t have those yet, but he was supposed to get them about 4 hours ago). But now he could hear Arabic everywhere and gunfire on the floors below. Then someone grabbed him. “Where the hell are your parents?!”

“I don’t know!” He snarled; swinging at the voice, and nailing a jaw.

“OW! You little-”

“Keegan!” He shoved the man away, charging his mom who was in tears.

“What’s happening?”

“The hospitals being attacked for some reason: these men are here to help.”

“Where’s dad?”

“Shane’s getting medicine for the other patients here: he headed out before the soldiers showed up. I’m so sorry he swung: he can’t help it.” The man gave him an appraising look, rubbing his chin.

“He’s got a good swing. We need everyone to stay here. My name is Grim: we will get you all out, but we need you to remain calm and orderly. Captain?” A big man stepped forward. Very big: he was wider in the chest than Keegan’s dad and taller than his mom. He looked like a tank would bounce off of him.

“My name is Gabriel Rorke. Anyone incapable of walking and needing assistance, please let us know. Kick, Ajax, and Walker, get these folks down to the garage. Neptune, Merrick, comms and eval. The rest of you, establish sniper positions. Grim, stay here and protect the civilians.” Mom lost her grip as Keegan struggled out of her grasp, disappearing deeper into the hospital. He needed to find his dad: the soldiers were making it difficult to not attack with them yelling in that tone all the time!

“Dad?! DAD?!” He called loudly, stubbornly searching this floor for his dad-a man rounded a corner, and he darted into a room just as he let out a shot. He listened to the footsteps approaching, hand closing on a scalpel. He had no idea what the man said, but he said it in an alpha tone. The scalpel went into his neck, bullets spraying everywhere as Keegan grunted, hitting the floor harshly on his hip. “DAD!” He called angrily, noticing the blood had gotten all over his pants. It wasn’t the first guy he’d killed, though it was the first guy he’d had try to shoot him: it was kind of rattling. The first guy had pulled a knife on his dad and Keegan had driven his skull into the wall. It had been accidental, Keegan just meaning to knock him out, but hitting a stud and getting a nail driven into his brain. Not that the gangs cared he didn’t mean to kill him. He kept running into guys with guns and tried to shoot him: the scalpel was very handy in taking care of them. He found his dad across the entire hospital, in a cooler.

“Keegan?! What are you doing-did you get hurt?”

“No. I came to find you. Do you have the medicines?” He nodded shakingly.

“I grabbed all of the ones I could think of. Glad I’m a pharmacist.” Keegan smiled.

“I know how to get back, but I’ll probably have to stab more people. Sorry.”

“In this situation, son, it’s acceptable behavior.” He led his dad back, stabbing another couple of people in the neck, leg, and arm as needed to get away and take them out. He came back with bloody hands, a slick scalpel, and a very shaken Shane.

“Shane! Keegan, are you-Keegs?!”

“I’m fine. There’s, like, 12 people dead in the hallways I had to stab. Sorry.” Rorke looked surprised, then Grim crouched to be eye level.

“You killed 12 men?” Keegan nodded after his dad nodded in encouragement. “Do you know this hospital well?”

“Yeah. I memorized the layout since I was bored. I’ve been here for 2 weeks.”

“…Sir, ma’am. Would you mind if I took your son on a few missions? There are people out there that haven’t been rounded up yet, and your son clearly knows the hospital.”

“Keegan is old enough to choose for himself.” Doris said confidently. The man looked down at him.

“Well?”

“Sure. Just don’t bark at me. I’ll probably attack you.” He went to head out with the scalpel, but the man paused him.

“Take my knife: it’ll be sturdier than that blade of yours and be better for use. Alright, first patient unaccounted for is room 505.” Keegan and Grim moved quickly and got 20 people back to the room with the others before Grim called it. “The other floors are too dangerous to go to right now. We’ll have to cut our losses.”

“What if I just go down, then?”

“Absolutely not: what are you, from Florida?”

“Yeah.” Grim raised a finger, then nodded as another man came in.

“Explains the rest. Rorke, that’s all the people we can get to. Start evac. Merrick, your plan better f*cking work.”

“Worked in World War 2 and Nam.” The man shrugged. “Kid, you need to go with your parents and get out.”

“If you’re going to fight, I want to stay.” Keegan said stubbornly. Doris cried,

“Absolutely not! Baby, I know you want to help, but wait until you have the actual training to do soldier things.”

“She’s right, kid.” Grim observed. “Evac is one thing: we’re undermanned and there’s a lot. But I won’t have you be out here when the fight gets bad.” Keegan considered this.

“…Okay. Can we go home, dad?”

“That is exactly my plan, love.” Keegan went to return the knife. Grim closed his hand around it again.

“Keep it. Come find me when you’re older. I’ll get you in here if you’re interested.”

“Cool.” Keegan hid in the trucks in his dad’s arms, the one named Kick driving along as he was still covered in blood. He wondered how those guys would all survive that fight with so many people trying to kill them. He then looked at his hands, coated in blood. Huh. He really killed a lot of people there. “Dad?”

“Yes?”

“…Am I a bad person?”

“No, you were just trying to help.” He said firmly, wrapping an arm around Keegan.

“I killed a lot of people.”

“You did.” His mom said bracingly. Not proud, just a statement of fact.

“…I’m tired.” He curled into their laps; eyes wide open despite him being tired. That was a lot, and his actions were starting to dawn on him. He’d hurt a lot of people. Killed a lot of people. He felt BAD, but they were trying to kill him and a lot of other people. He had to do something, and killing them kept people safe…he was going to join the military.

2005, May 7^th: “Mr. Sanderson?” The man was gone. And the woman had died. The nurse sighed heavily, looking down at the baby she had delivered 12 hours ago. “I’m sorry, little one. I can’t keep you. You’ll have to go into the foster-”

“N-no, I’m here, I’m here! Sorry, I had…to take a minute. Um, is he okay?” She smiled.

“Yes, he’s quite alright. Do you need some help?”

“No, no, I’ve got more than enough help at home. Some of its unwanted help, but it’s help-um, thanks.” He signed the dismiss slip, calling nervously with the baby in his arms, “Say bye, Gary!” As he disappeared.

2005, May 20^th: Keegan scowled as he tried to get the blood out. Stupid New York. He’d been going up the bus route to visit every single recruitment office he could find, and along the way had ended up getting into about 7 fist fights and almost got mugged 12 times. Unfortunately, they kept catching he wasn’t even 17 yet, though his papers said he was. It was a few damn months until he would be ‘18’: what was the big deal?! But he had needed to clear out of Florida to protect his parents. The gangs were not happy with him, and the more distance he got between himself and them, the more likely it was for them and him to stay alive. But because of his activities and how many people had jumped him, he now had blood all over his favorite shirt. It was WHITE, too, and the other shirt he had was trashed beyond repair. “sh*t…” He groaned, shoulders slumping.

“Hello?” He jerked up, locking eyes with a brunette with brown eyes over the washing machine. She was tall, an alpha most likely. Why was she doing laundry at this shady place at almost midnight??

“Thought it was empty this late.” He mumbled, tugging his cap down lightly. He was told he had a staring problem, and he really didn’t want to get into a fight while trying to fix his shirt. She raised an eyebrow.

“What’s the issue? I’m pretty good at fixing things if that’s what it is.”

“Blood in my f*cking favorite tee.” He grumbled. She leaned over the washer to see more clearly. 6 feet tall, lemon smell. He held it up, rolling his eyes at her curiosity.

“Nosebleed?” She offered. He almost scoffed: she clearly didn’t have any experience with blood if she thought a person could be moving after a ‘nosebleed’ bad enough to make this much blood. Granted, it would be the most normal assumption.

“You could say that.” He said vaguely, not making eye contact.

“So why are you stressed out?”

“I’ve got an interview tomorrow at 6 AM, and this was my only shirt wearable.” He admitted. She crossed her arms, leaning against the washer with a smile as she offered easily,

“Want some help?” He looked at her suspiciously, then shrugged. Not like he couldn’t handle another fight, and it couldn’t get MORE ruined. He thought: laundry was not in his skillset.

“Yeah, I’ve got nothing to lose.” She grabbed a bag, walking over to his side with baking soda, detergent, peroxide, and a lavender shirt with a wet spot. “You get a nosebleed, too?”

“Nope. One of my friends gets all the sh*t because he’s an omega. I get sick of it, and throw a punch. Or 9 of them if they don’t stay down or go after him. Terri Ramirez, by the way.” Keegan nodded in approval.

“Keegan. Keegan Russ.” She smiled at him, starting to work on the shirt. “Why laundry this late?”

“The dorm’s laundry room is swamped since it’s move-out time, and I had a lot of last-minute projects to finish. So I’m here. Where’s your interview? I don’t even know a place that starts up that early. Make sure to pat, not scrub yet.”

“Got it. Recruitment center. I turn 17 tomorrow.” She looked at him oddly.

“That eager to join the military?” He laughed warmly, joking,

“Folks said it was military or a cop.” She laughed.

“Fantastic options.” He glanced at her. “Joking. I’m going into professional soccer: my opinion means very little.”

“Heh. I’ve got issues normal people jobs don’t have programs for.” Terri tilted her head in confusion.

“What issues are we talking here? Are you a serial killer? Because that would be…less fun.” His eyes sparked in amusem*nt.

“Oh, yeah. Having murder thoughts, I’ll get back to you later.” Keegan laughed to himself. “No, nothing like that. I’m irregular: no standard leave schedule, and blockers make it worse. People don’t like when you can’t predict things in normal jobs. Also have my sense of humor: normal jobs don’t appreciate it from people like me.” Omegas: Terri shook her head, an acid scent getting stifled quickly. Oh, so she really didn’t like sexism. Nice. “Where you from?”

“Right here, New York. I’m going to Cornell.”

“Oh, a smart girlie.” She chuckled, checking her phone as a notification came through.

“No, that would be my roommate, who is graduating tomorrow-I mean today: it is officially 2 AM. Happy birthday.”

“Thanks. Congrats to your roommate. College sounds hard.”

“Well, not for some people.” She looked wistful, definitely thinking about someone specifically. She then raised his shirt: it looked almost perfect. “There. Now just pop it in a washer and pray it works.” He chuckled in relief.

“Thanks, you’re a life saver. You seem a chill girlie. What if I give my number and you give me yours-no dick pics, promise-so that you need any help with something violent or scary dog privileges, you call me.”

“And what do you get out of this?”

“I need help with any, uh, nosebleeds, I call you.” Terri hesitated, but shrugged. Keegan knew it was unusual, asking some random lady you met at a laundromat for her number. Worse come to worse, she would block him from something or another.

“Why not?” They exchanged numbers, and headed their separate ways.

Terri laughed about it with Kate, who looked thoroughly concerned. “What if he pings you, or sends you something weird? He could be a mass murderer looking for an alibi!”

“Don’t freak out. I can handle it. Besides, I’m moving in with you tomorrow? I’d like to see him TRY to get through you-oh, hey. He texted me.” She snorted, turning the phone towards Kate. The light revealed a,

“I got in, bitches!” text from this man’s number. Followed shortly by a “Thanks: good luck with college.”

“Well, based on what you said, I don’t blame you, but if he sends anything weird-”

“I’ll block him, promise!”

Chapter 18: 2005

Chapter Text

2005, June 27^th: Price came into his office, blinking at the general at the stench. “Sir, you wanted to see me?”

“At ease. I wanted to get another alpha’s impression of this.” Price read the document his commander handed him with a scowl.

“Omegas can join, sir?” He nodded, growling even harder. Well, the betas in the office would not be coming in here any time soon from the sheer anger exuding from him right now.

“What’s your take?”

“More people to defend queen and country, sir.”

“Not MacMillian’s, John: I want your non-political take.”

“That is my non-political view point, General.” Price said flatly. MacMillian may have opened his eyes to more of the world than he knew, but he could make his own opinions, thanks. “We get more people putting their lives on the line to keep our country safe? I don’t care what their identity is.” The general took him in.

“Then you and MacMillian can train them. No one else will volunteer, worried they’ll try to bond.” Price nodded curtly, taking the files, and heading outside. Of course, MacMillian got put in charge of training the omegas. Most just wanted them out of their hair, just like when he threw MacMillian all the betas. Jokes on him: those betas were better trained than half the alphas thanks to MacMillian: the man never held back. He glanced at his phone as he got a notice, and met up with his trainer.

“You ready?”

“Yes, sir. What’s the mission?” MacMillian handed him the file. Great: it was another political formulation questionnaire opening. Sometimes MacMillian drove him crazy…the file was on some Russian guy: an omega named Nikolai.

“What do you see?” Standard extract mission, nothing worth noting.

“Omega going to get killed.”

“No, Price. What do you see in Nikolai?” Price rolled his eyes. Always on about seeing the big picture with this guy…he took a look at the person’s file. Same age as him: six months younger exactly. He’d been feeding them intel for 8 years, since he was married off to- Price’s eyes narrowed.

“Married at 12 to 40-year-old Ghorbrani? He must’ve just presented…”

“Aye.”

“Looks smart: no direct leads to him being the informant until one of our guys got greedy and turned, speaks a handful of languages.” MacMillian nodded. “Mechanical experience, traditional training, non-military personnel. That’s what I’ve got.”

“Good eye. I’ve got something that isn’t on that document. His grandfather was a friend of mine named Yuri. Also an informant. He was killed in front of his family and all the leaders’ mates about 14 years ago now as a warning against betrayal: and Nikolai still helped us with intel.”

“Damn it, old man. Russia’s f*cked.” MacMillian nodded.

“But there’s good people there. Nikolai’s a friend, so let’s go get him out of what he can’t get himself out of. We’re meeting up with a Loyalist group.”

“Pro-Russia.” MacMillian corrected,

“Anti-nuke. Keep your head on a swivel. They aren’t friendly, but they won’t shoot us on sight.” It went about as a normal extract went, getting to the place he was being held. He was in an empty room; hands clasped over his neck to try and stifle the stench of pure terror that permeated everything. It smelled like half-rotten curry, John forcing him up to his feet and MacMillian asked, “You alright? Can you walk?” He nodded jerkily, using a bloody t-shirt from a corpse to wipe his neck, to make the rankness more tolerable. Price watched him in silent distance. His family didn’t do Russians. He understood why as an adult.

“I-I can fight, too. Spase Bogh.” What did that mean? MacMillian handed him a pistol with a nod.

“Good. We’ll need the hand.” Nikolai was gripping it as if his life depended on it. Which was frankly true. That didn’t stop Price’s growing wariness: it was an armed Russian. He’d heard from his aunt about the massacres and terrorism. He tapped comms.

“Big Bird, bravo 6. We have the package, meet us at LZ one, over.”

“On route, Bravo 6, out.” Nikolai didn’t fire once. He just held the gun tightly as they rushed through to the plane. Once on board, he pressed into Price’s side, shuddering-

“You mind?” He barked: Nikolai stank and Price did not like being touched by strangers. Nikolai jerked away like he was burned.

“Apologies.” MacMillian said, easing Price’s tension,

“Don’t be hurt, Nikolai. John’s not used to omegas being touchy. John, he’s been without comfort for 2 weeks. You know what that’s like.” Price winced, guilt gnawing at him as vinegar scent filled the plane. He did. Sniping was what he was really good at, but being isolated for weeks at a time was…a lot, even for him not being beaten like Nikolai seemed to have been. He hesitantly opened his arms, and Nikolai paused slightly.

“Sorry. I’m…not much good for comfort.” The omega slowly eased into his grasp, the curry scent easing into just pepper, a warm scent that tickled his nose more comfortingly than obnoxiously now. Price gave a gentle squeeze, and Nikolai whispered,

“He was going to kill me.”

2005, July 29^th: Turns out, Nikolai had already been declared dead. General Ghorbrani had found a new, younger bond-mate. It made Price’s stomach churned, but technically, it wasn’t illegal in Russia if they had presented. It was still disgusting. For now, he was staying on base. Which was dangerous, but there was nowhere else for him to go. So Price had volunteered to watch him, so no one got any ideas and no enemy decided to take him out while he was getting questioned. Sure, Nikolai had been given amnesty, but that didn’t stop people from blaming the man who would have been SIX at the time for the airport massacre. For the Basrah nuke. Price rarely left Nikolai’s side except for when he was giving intel to the higher ups, intel Price didn’t have the clearance for; when he had to train the FNGs; or when Nikolai didn’t feel up to leaving their shared room. When Nikolai couldn’t talk about the situation, couldn’t even mention his former mate whose teeth marks were still embedded into his throat, Price knew it was bad. Nikolai never removed his clothes, either: he wore gloves, long sleeves, turtlenecks when he could handle the heat. It was 2 days in when Price finally started a conversation with him by asking as looked over his book, “What are they asking you about?”

“Eh?” He stated, looking puzzled.

“All the questioning. What’s the general thing they’re asking about?”

“…If I know where something called Nova 6 is. I never heard of it. If they have access to any access codes to American nukes. No American: just Russian. Details of families, security measures, political climate.”

“Why would you know? You weren’t in the military.”

“Only benefit of being omega.” Price paused, looking at a sad smile on his face. “People do not see you.”

“…I’m sorry, mate.” Nikolai tensed, and Price quickly explained, “Means friend here: it’s just slang.”

“Ah. But…why sorry?” Price frowned.

“I…don’t think you should’ve been through all that.”

“It is not worst fate. Better than omega house.”

“Om…I’m sorry, a what?” Nikolai blinked at him.

“Britian…does not have omega houses?” Price blinked.

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Ah. It is house, for unmated omega. They get bought or borrowed there. Most have poor care. I was…lucky.”

“What the f*ck…?” Price muttered. “No, we don’t have that. That’s part of the omega trade: we’ve been trying shut that down since World War 2.” Nikolai considered this.

“Strange. Do you speak Russian?” Price shook his head.

“My, uh, family doesn’t really…do Russian.” Nikolai nodded, smiling softly.

“Understandable. We have not proven very…cooperative. I apologize.”

“No, I volunteered to watch you. MacMillian’s a friend, and my trainer. He trusts you, so do I. I just…don’t know anything about Russia. Or omegas. I’m a bit lost on how to interact with you, but I won’t bite. You need anything, or have a question, I’m here.”

“I appreciate that, my friend.”

2005, August 7^th: Price woke to a clatter, panicked breathing, and the scent of curry everywhere. He pulled out a knife from under his pillow, and saw Nikolai had braced himself against the wall, as flat as he could make himself. “Nikolai? What’s wrong?” Nikolai was speaking Russian rapidly, pure terror in his voice as Price flicked on the light with a frown. He saw his coffee maker lying there and one of his mugs shattered on the floor.

“Oh. Well, bollocks, I’ll have to get a new one.” He muttered absentmindedly. Nikolai’s eyes dilated further as Price rubbed his neck. “Nikolai, what’s wrong? It’s just a mug.”

“Please…don’t get rid of me…”

“What?” Price asked blankly, puzzled. It smacked him in the face. “No, no, Nikolai, I’m not getting a new…I was talking about the mug, not you.” It wasn’t calming him down. “sh*t, I’m awful at this…Listen, could you get me a pair of gloves from my dresser there? Top drawer. I’ll clean it up.” Nikolai shakingly obeyed, Price noticing his hand was bleeding awfully, all over his shirt. “Looks like you got nicked, too.”

“I-I didn’t mean to.” He whispered as he handed the gloves over.

“It’s okay. No use crying over spilt milk, Nikolai.” He picked up the glass carefully, chucking it in the bin, then gestured Nikolai to come over. “I need to patch you up: I’ve got gauze over here. Keep kicking myself in the shin in these beds.” Nikolai sat down, Price humming softly as he wrapped his hand gently. “There. Now, your shirts covered in blood, so if you could grab a clean shirt from my dresser, you can wear that.”

“A-are you…not angry?” Nikolai asked gingerly.

“Nik, it’s just a mug. I’m more worried about your hand. Those cuts were deep-”

“You…won’t get rid of me?” Price paused, tightening. He then set a heavy hand on Nikolai’s shoulder.

“I will never make you go anywhere or do anything. That’s a promise. Anything I say, anything I order. You don’t have to do any of it. And you never have to worry about getting kicked out over some daft sh*t like breaking a mug. ONLY thing that would make me that mad is if you hurt someone else on purpose that didn’t deserve it. Got it? You don’t have to worry about that here.”

“…Thank you.”

2005, August 15^th: “That stupid Russian. Can’t he just get off the base now?” Nikolai tensed as he tried to get food.

“20 bucks says he’s banging one of the generals.” He cringed at the very thought, dodging the larger people as he tried to find a secluded place. Price had had a meeting or mission (the words sounded so similar to him, he couldn’t quite remember which one Price had said) in an hour, so Nikolai was trying to get him some food. It was instinct for him to do something for the tired man who was protecting him for now, and cuddling was off the table. So food it was.

“Bet it’s Holly. Everyone likes a good hate f-”

“PRIVATE.” Nikolai froze instantly at the tone, every muscle in his body tensing like a spring as he automatically looked over to see the tall woman glaring down at the man who dared make a comment like that. It wasn’t much of a jump to say this was General Holly. “Out, now. I’ll deal with you in a bit.” Then she stepped towards HIM. Nikolai stared up at her in horror as she towered over him. “I bet you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Nikolai locked eyes with the ground, shaking his head rapidly. No, he would much rather NOT be surrounded by people who hated the very concept of him. “Your people killed over 4 million people in Basrah, and tried to kill even MORE in Paris, America, and my own country.” Nikolai was shaking. “Get out of my sight.” He scrambled away, heart pounding in his ears as he accidentally stole the cafeteria tray. He found Price in their shared room, the man instantly looking up in alarm.

“Nik? Are you alright?” He nodded shakingly.

“Have you…eaten?” Price chuckled with a head shake.

“Guess the mess hall’s still too much, ay? My aunt’s pissed at me: is making me do filing and all.”

“A-aunt?” Price nodded vaguely.

“She’s technically my superior officer, but we don’t interact much.”

“You did not answer. Have you eaten?”

“No, I haven’t. Trying to get this sh*t done-” Nikolai set the tray in front of him, and Price hung his head. “Thanks. I am starving: appreciate you looking out for me.” Nikolai stayed in the room, too frightened he would meet such an angry general a second time. It was fine: he was away from that man. He was safe here…

2005, August 16^th: Price knew something had shaken Nikolai up at lunch yesterday. He just wasn’t expecting it to have been his aunt Holly. He was dropping the files off at her aide’s desk when he heard her angrily talking with MacMillian. “I want him out of this base: he’s causing unnecessary tensions, and he’s pissing me off!”

“You need to control your temper, ma’am. Nikolai is still providing valuable information, and someone higher than you told me he stays until he isn’t. He’s still scared-”

“He’s sleeping next to my NEPHEW. I don’t want a Russian anywhere near my family. I don’t care that he’s scared.”

“Your nephew volunteered to let him stay.”

“Nikolai is smug as sh*t. You’ve seen him strutting around base like he owns it! No better than any other Russian from Basrah-” John stepped into the office, glaring at his aunt with all the fury he could muster. Holly’s eyes melted. “John. Are you-”

“I think Nikolai is doing good, general. You shouldn’t judge someone from where they were born. He’s been loyal to our people for 8 years, and he risked everything to help us, even his family’s lives. He’s f*cking solid.” John turned and walked out angrily, heading to his room to check on Nikolai. And saw he’d created a solid wall of stolen blankets to separate underneath the bed from the rest of the room. “Nik? You solid?”

“Nyet.” Okay, Price knew that was ‘no’. It was muffled: Nikolai was really deep under the bed. How’d he even fit under there?

“Do you…want to talk?” He finished with a verbal shrug. He was not equipped to handle this kind of thing. Silence. He shrugged physically, taking a nap in his chair, and then getting more paperwork done. Nikolai made no move to come out, and Price didn’t want to pressure him. He’d been pressured enough for like 30 lifetimes. But now it was dinnertime, and he knew for a fact Nikolai hadn’t eaten in at least 2 days. He pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Hey, it’s dinner time. You don’t need to say anything, just write down if you want something specific, and I’ll do my best to bring it up.” He slid the paper and pencil in, and spotted the omega’s right hand without gloves on. Scars. From handcuffs, cuts, and a surgical scar near the base of his hand. A bruised bite mark: the remains of his mating bond. How hard had he gotten bit, that it was STILL bruised? The note just said ‘potato’ in very neat writing. At least Nik could write English: Price had forgotten to even ask. He got two meals (one with rice and one with potatoes), and entered his room again. Nikolai still hadn’t come out, but Price just set the tray on the ground in front of where his hand had come out of, sitting at his desk, and eating his own food in silence before returning to his project of transferring the old personnel manuscripts to electronic. Then he heard Nikolai mutter,

“I thought I…was getting better.”

“You are. Other people aren’t. World’s sh*t: we just got to live in it.” He turned to see Nikolai now sitting on the floor in front of the bed: he could see numerous healing wounds over his arms now that he was just wearing a tee. “Is it even comfortable down there, under the bed? Couldn’t have been easy to get into…”

“Nyet, but it takes little space.”

“Nik, you can put your nest anywhere you want.” Nikolai whirled to look at him in shock. “It’s basically a bed, innit?” Price internally winced at the tears Nikolai was trying to fight back. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“…I can put it anywhere?” Price took a deep breath and sighed, shifting to sit next to Nik.

“Come here, Nik.” Nik buried his head into Price’s shoulder.

2005, August 19^th: Nik and Price had negotiated Nik putting the nest on Price’s bed. Price was fine with it, his main concern was his kneejerk reaction to sudden noises in the night: his constant knife would be put on his desk, not under his pillow. Nik was concerned about his recovery journey being affected by sharing a nest with an alpha. To accommodate that, Nik built two separate parts of the nest, functioning as their individual nests. Price attempted to help, but Nikolai eventually banished him from doing so with a laugh. “You are so bad!”

“Heh, well, I’ve never built one before.” He half-defended, laughing with Nik about the falling over pile of blankets and pillows. He glanced at his watch. “Oh, sh*t, I’m late as hell to training. I’ll be back, good luck.”

“Da, to you as well.” Training went surprisingly swimmingly. Then Price heard shouting in the barracks, MacMillian joining him as they bolted for his room-and saw Nikolai bristling at General Price with tears in his eyes, a cut over his eye, and blocking the door as best he could with his small body as she snarled,

“Stay away from him.” John stepped between both of them, MacMillian taking a step towards Holly to grab her in case it got even more hostile. John snarled,

“The f*ck is going on, general?”

“I was doing inspections, and I see this f*cking Russian has made a nest on your bunk.”

“Aye, we did.” Holly’s eyes turned even harder. “He had one underneath the bed, but I was concerned about evac being slower than safe, so I offered him to put his nest on my bed. It’s split into two for us to use separately.” He glanced over Nikolai’s head: the nest was absolutely annihilated. Holly had torn some of the blankets in half. Price made no aggressive move: that would get him discharged. But he didn’t move a single inch back from his aunt’s face or from the shaking Nikolai’s side.

“…Fine. Get it under control, John.”

“Understood, sir.” She stalked away, and Nikolai stumbled into the room, John and MacMillian following him.

“Are you okay, Nik?” He nodded weakly.

“I-I’m sorry, I tried to defend it, but I’m n-not supposed to fight commanders-”

“You did great, Nik. Let me fix up that cut there, ay?” Nik nodded stiffly, MacMillian fixing up the nest with direction from Nik.

2005, August 20^th: Price jerked awake as Nikolai jolted up, hand gripping his hand that had the faded mating mark. He’d expected this. “Hey, Nikolai, it was a nightmare, that’s all.” He nodded jerkily, hugging himself. Price leaned against him, pressing him between his own body and the wall. Neither of them would be going back to sleep, and Price had gotten some good news last week… “So, I’ve got 2 tickets to a football game today. Do you want to come?” Nikolai blinked at him, not recognizing the name. “It’s a sport I enjoy watching.”

“…N-Nyet, but…” Price nodded.

“MacMillian said he’d spend the day with you.” Nikolai smiled broadly, and squeezed Price’s chest in a tight hug.

“Spase Bogh.” Price raised an eyebrow.

“What does that mean?”

“Thank you.” Nikolai chuckled warmly, leaning his head into Price’s shoulder. Price headed out soon after that, securing his hat and finding his seat after handing the extra ticket to the people selling them. They were a gift, so he didn’t need a refund, anyways. He settled in, watching from the good seats as his team started to score the mid game winner-

“Excuse me, are you Sargeant John Price?” An American? He glanced over for a quick evaluation. Beta, sugar scent, average height, dirty blonde. And interrupting his favorite sport.

“No, I’m a unicorn.”

“I’m putting together a group of-”

“Shh.” He covered her mouth. “I’m busy.” She bared her teeth, but just went silent. He uncovered her mouth periodically, but whenever she tried to talk again, he covered her mouth to an angry growl. At the end of the game, he uncovered her mouth with a raised eyebrow as she snapped angrily, bristling,

“Are you done now?”

“Yes. Name?”

“Kate Laswell, CIA.” He grunted. “I’m putting together a group of individuals to help with a situation developing in Bosnia. MacMillian suggested you.” Price nodded vaguely.

“When?”

“In 2 hours.”

“With?”

“Elias Walker and Riddian Poe, men called Scarecrow and Grim respectively. MacMillian said you were mid assignment, but agreed to take that over while we addressed Bosnia.”

“Alright. On you.”

“That…easy?” Price glanced at the now confused woman.

“Yeah. I was celebrating my birthday: I’m back on the clock now.” Why wouldn’t it be easy? She was asking for help with a black ops mission, and MacMillian suggested him. He took that as a high compliment.

“…Huh. Well, here’s the situation.” He kept pace with her with difficulty as she quickly briefed him.

“Jeez, what are you, part cheetah?”

“Yes: I run cross country.” He shook his head with a sigh as he jogged to keep up, joining them on the plane. Elias was a perfectly average alpha, Grim significantly taller and bigger. “Alright, boys, this is John Price-” Elias offered a hand, Price refusing it politely but nodding. “Recommended by MacMillian.”

“You forget to brief him, corker?” John and Kate both decked Elias in the jaw simultaneously. Grim snorted in amusem*nt, saying casually as Elias looked up in anger,

“You keep saying that sh*t, you get what’s coming to you, Scarecrow.” He pulled the man to his feet, nodding to both of them. “He’s backlogged: ignore him. Bosnia, hostages.”

“Yes. And I can handle myself, John.” He nodded.

“I just don’t like that kind of language, Kate. Pisses me off.” Kate finished a quick layout, and they set to work.

2005, August 21^st: Price watched the American soldiers head out, Kate hanging around base for a bit longer. “You waiting for someone?” She nodded.

“One of the soccer players: she’s my roommate.”

“Football. And is it Terissa Ramirez?” She looked at him in shock. “You watched her more than anyone else. She’s a damn good player, one of my favorite Americans. I’m guessing you’re not an actual football fan?”

“No. Just watch it for Terri. You did good work out there.”

“That’s my job. And this is my offer.” She raised an eyebrow at John handing her his number.

“Excuse me?”

“You need another sniper, or just an ear, I’ll be there.”

“…f*ck, I’m starting to take after Terri, taking random guys’ numbers…by the way, why do you smell like pepper?”

“I’ve got a…friend staying in my bunk: smells like curry.”

“Friend, huh?”

“Like Terri’s yours?” He snarked back, a blush growing. It was inappropriate, his parents would never approve (much less his aunt), but he…wouldn’t mind if Nik stayed with him forever. Kate nodded.

“Touche. I’ll call you, John. Get some rest. Terri!” She jogged off to the taller woman, Price chuckling lightly. He headed into his bunk, and saw Nik was awake in the nest, while MacMillian was half-blacked out on the floor. Price sighed silently, laying a blanket over his commander and trainer, then laid down next to Nik, lightly tapping his shoulder. No, it wouldn’t be so bad if Nik stayed forever. Alas, it wasn’t to be. Nik had agreed to go back to Russia, back undercover. MacMillian said softly,

“They pressured him. He’s got too good of a network for them to let it go.” Price scowled in annoyance. Once again, it wasn’t HIS choice…Nikolai paused Price, shifting awkwardly.

“…Thank you. For getting me out, for…being there.” Price pulled off his glove, Nik’s eyes widening. “You…”

“If you’re up to it.” Nik eagerly shook his hand, scenting each other. Price could feel his aunt’s glare even though she wasn’t even here. “Here’s my number, too.” Nikolai’s eyes widened, sparkling in the light. “I’ll pull you out of any jam you get into, Nik.”

“Same to you, my…” Nikolai’s grip flexed as he struggled to think of a term for his feelings. “…Second chance.” Price beamed as Nikolai left, holding the paper he’d slipped into his own grasp tightly. MacMillian leaned over.

“If you mate, I had nothing to do with it.” Price flushed tomato red.

Chapter 19: 2006

Chapter Text

2006, February 14^th: Keegan checked his messages as he jumped off the plane on base. “You finally getting hitched?”

“Please.” He called back, rolling his eyes. Oh, it was from Terri.

‘Galentine’s Day with Kate. <3.’ Huh. Kate was a pretty lady. He could see why Terri liked her so much between all the messages. She was driven, dependable, solid as a rock, and didn’t take any sh*t from anyone. She worked for one of the intelligence agencies, but Keegan didn’t know enough about those to say which. He ducked under the swing, flicking the alpha in the nose with a scoff. At least try to jump him, f*cker. People weren’t particularly fond of him on base. With him both being an omega and having a massive attitude issue, army men didn’t really approve of his existence. Though, it was because he was an omega that he managed to get them to sweep the assault of his drill sergeant under the table. Was it legal, forcing someone to be a heat aide via basically blackmail? Absolutely not. But it was a compromise he could live with for them ignoring any ‘outbursts’ of his alpha defiance disorder. Besides, it wasn’t like he was complaining about getting laid. He refocused back on Terri’s text. Kate looked just about what he imagined. Fit, stern look lightened by being around Terri…he texted back,

‘She’s hot. Too bad she’s a lesbian.’

‘KEEGS, WTF?!’

‘I jest. She is hot, though.’ He removed his jacket, getting ready to shower before doing his duties.

‘Kate made a friend: he gave her his number like you did, lol.’ Really?

‘lol. Wtf was the big deal with us, then?’ Kate was a cautious type. Why would she accept someone’s number?

‘ikr?! His name’s John Price.’

‘that’s such a stupid name, rotfl!’

‘right?!’ He wrote it down to do research on. Terri was a good lady: honest, volunteered, and cared a heck of a lot. He wasn’t going to let anyone hurt her for just being in love with the wrong person.

‘shower: ttyl.’

‘ttyl!’ He hummed, considering his future. Grim had said he could join his squad, but he had no idea what squad that even was…ah, well. He still had a few months left to find out before he got done with basic.

2006, March 7^th: Price sighed in relief as he hugged Nikolai. “I’m chuffed to see you again, mate.”

“I am…chuffed?” Price laughed, nodding. “Chuffed as well, Price.” Kate said, looking between the two,

“Nikolai’s not going to be here for long: we’re doing a drop off of hardware here we cut off from Siberia, and doing personnel drop on the way back.” Price nodded; a little hurt Nikolai couldn’t stay longer. Sure, they talked on the phone for hours each week, and Price may never admit it out loud, but he missed the spicy smell of curry peppers in his bunk, the Russian songs whisper-sung that he could now sing by memory alone, the way his eyes sparked when someone mentioned helicopters or planes… “But I’m sure we can spend some time here. I’ve got a mission briefing, so you two catch up.” Kate disappeared. A bit strange, but Price wasn’t complaining. They went to the pub for dinner (neither wanted the chance to run into Holly again), talking. Price listened with a smile as Nik excitedly filled him in with the details of his most recent networking (Saint Petersburg, oddly enough), and then laughing as he shared the recruits’ recent issues with basic trainings. Nikolai tilted his head.

“You are training omegas?”

“Aye, me and MacMillian train the omegas and betas. I don’t get why the others won’t get off their asses and train the blokes themselves, but nothing I can do about bigotry.”

“You do not think it is…dangerous?”

“Hell, no. I’d trust my back to an omega faster than I ever will an alpha, and alphas tend towards aggression: omegas and betas react just as quickly but more level-headedly in general.” Nikolai hummed in curiosity, Price going deep into his general experiences with all 3 genders as Nik watched him with a smile. They had to go back to base as night fell, Price knowing Nik and Kate would be heading out as soon as they got back so walking slowly as Nikolai continued talking happily. Kate asked, waiting by the heli as they approached,

“So what’s the plan for if you need to stay overnight here again?” Nikolai stated,

“If he would have me again, I would like to stay with John Price.” Price thought his heart would burst.

“I’ve actually been looking for flats nearby, so if you come back, you don’t have to stay on base like last time. Make you a bit more comfortable.” Nikolai smiled broadly as he climbed onto the plane.

“This is why I love you.” Price short circuited. Nikolai didn’t realize what he said until they were halfway to Siberia. Then he turned red, cursing in Russian. Kate nodded.

“Yup. Glad it sorted itself out though.”

“I said I love him! That is not…sorted-!” He heard his phone chime, and answered it with a frown.

‘I love you, too.’

“Laswell-” He spluttered out, her taking the controls as she patted his shoulder.

“Take your time.”

2006, May 20^th: Keegan answered his phone, sighing. “Girlie, I am really busy right now.” He raised a hand to an amused Grim and an annoyed Elias. “What’s the deal?”

“Nothing, just wishing you a happy birthday!”

“Birth-OH.” He glanced at the calendar. “May 20^th. Completely spaced. Thanks, girlie. Appreciate the thought, but I’ve really got to go. I’ll call back later, kay?”

“Okay, talk to you soon!” She hung up, and Keegan sighed, shaking his head.

“Sorry about that: my birthday.”

“Happy birthday. As I was saying, this is a covert, black ops of black ops team. You were an aid in the Sand Viper operation, but we’re an all-alpha team right now.”

“Except for Kick.” Grim corrected.

“Kick’s a special case in any case.” Elias dismissed. “So I’ve got some reservations about allowing an…omega into this team.”

“I’m the one who invited him, sir.” Grim said warningly. Elias nodded.

“And I’m not discounting that, Grim, but I haven’t seen anything about you that’s particularly impressive. So prove-” Keegan moved faster than he could stop. When he got his body to stop, his teeth were half-in Elias’ neck scarf, arms pinned behind his back by Grim. He carefully extracted.

“Um, I’ve got a medical condition called Alpha Defiance Disorder.” Elias gasped as Keegan backed off, Grim letting go.

“Which means?”

“If I hear an alpha tone, I respond aggressively: I can’t stop it. It’s officially recognized as a reversion into a feral state due to overwhelming of hormones. Sorry about that: I pierce the skin?”

“No.” Grim asked, holding back a laugh as he pulled Elias to his feet with a jerk.

“That was all instinct?” Keegan nodded. “How long that last?”

“Uh, anywhere from 2 to 5 seconds, depending on my state before the reaction.”

“f*cking flipdick…” Keegan raised an eyebrow, Grim stepping back.

“You’ve got one hell of a mouth, knotless bastard.” Elias looked at him with anger. “Dish it but can’t take it, breeder?”

“Grim, run him through. I’ll be watching.” He rubbed his neck clear, scowling. Grim chuckled.

“You really aren’t scared of sh*t, are you?”

“Oh, I’m scared of plenty. It’s not going to stop me from messing around.” Keegan was put through so tight a wringer; he didn’t know if there was an ounce of sweat left in his body. He collapsed to the side, Grim chuckling lightly as Keegan let out a prolonged, “Fu~uck…no more, no more, I’m tapped.”

“Good work. Scarecrow?”

“He’s in, if barely.” Keegan groaned, Grim pulling him up easily.

“Don’t let his attitude fool you: that was the cleanest run through I’ve seen, including Merrick.”

“Thanks, but I don’t need platitudes.”

“It’s not.” Keegan looked up at the semi-familiar face of Merrick. “We don’t do that here. you get a compliment when you earn the compliment. Welcome to the Ghosts, Russ.”

“Call me Keegan or Keegs.” He said easily, shaking Merrick’s hand, then he realized how late it was. “Oh, sh*t, I’ve got to call Terri back: she’s probably freaking out!” He fumbled out his phone as Grim explained what happened with a deep laugh.

2006, July 5^th: Konig took a steadying breath. He had years of practice pushing down the terror that would envelope him whenever he had to speak in front of people. It hadn’t gotten easier: he’d just gotten far better at concealing the panic. Unfortunately, he had to make a speech. Oh, he hated it, always had. The ogling, the stares, the WHISPERS. But becoming Colonel would let him have better influences over how the others were treated. He could help more people, people more susceptible to the stigmas. He still had to watch his tone. He still had to watch his movements. But with the people under his command, he didn’t. They knew who he was, how he was. As heartless as he was in the field, he never would let them be hurt for what they were born as. He pulled off his hood, knowing it wouldn’t be acceptable to wear it during… “Bärchen?”

“Mama.” He replied, straightening as the small woman looked at him with fondness.

“Still worried?” He nodded jerkily, nervously flattening his uniform again. “You are strong in spirit and heart. You will be alright.” He knelt on one knee, hugging his mama gently. She had been the one to choose the strength behind his hugs since he was 6. He knew he was stronger. He knew he could break most people if he didn’t watch every move he made. But somehow, his mama wasn’t scared of him. He inhaled her cherrywood scent, trying to remember what his father smelled like.

“Mama…what was papa’s scent?”

“Ashwood: he was very fond of it.” She smiled sadly, crinkling up her layered face. She may have aged gracefully, almost 90 at the point, but even that didn’t stop the elderly woman from aging. “He would be so proud of you. I see you finished your craft.” He nodded, draping the shawl over her with a smile.

“It took longer than I expected. Nights on duty are…short. Happy late birthday, mama.” He stood up again, taking a shaking breath. “And now to…make a speech.”

“I will be in the crowd, Bärchen.” He hid the shaking behind his sheer size as he took to the stage, his commander putting the pin in as he recited the words. And then it was his turn to speech. His throat swelled up, and he swallowed once, trying to force his tense body into relaxing.

"Hello. My name is Konig Kilgore. I joined the army in 1980, and am very proud to be enlisted still today." He hoped he was speaking slowly enough to not scare anyone and still be clear. He swallowed again, losing his trail of thoughts for a second. “As grateful as I am for this honor, the greatest reward I have received in my service is the opportunity to protect my country and its people. Thank you, everyone.” He saluted firmly, everyone in the crowd saluting back, and he quickly but professionally extracted himself from the stage, breathing uneven as he entered the bathroom long enough to steady his breathing and apply scent-blocker along his neck. Just because they knew he wouldn’t hurt them now didn’t mean they didn’t gag still.

2006, August 7^th: Iris took another swig of his cigarette as he walked down the street-he paused as the I’s dog barked relentlessly up a tree. “Ire? What are you doing-”

“Archie, help!” Johnny? He looked up the tree and found the small boy clinging to the tree for dear life, tears pouring down his cheeks. He shooed Ire off, catching the 7-year-old as he fell. “I-I was so scared I was going to be up there forever-”

“Johnny, you’re supposed to be in school.”

“I-I got chased up there this morning, and n-no one could hear me over the C’s party for the triplets.” He sobbed, clinging to Iris desperately. That meant- Iris said softly,

“Johnny, you’ve been in that tree for 12 hours?” He sniffled, nodding weakly. “Oh, sh*te. Um, why don’t we get some ice cream, let you calm down. I’ll explain to your mum, and ask them to keep a closer eye on Ire.”

“It won’t do anything…” He mumbled. Iris knew that: there were just too many of them for them to keep track of all the kids, ages ranging from 36 to 7 and all 89 of them living in 11 houses on the same block.

“We won’t know until we try. What kind of ice cream you want? Wait, you, uh…like-is it chocolate chip or vanilla? No, wait, strawberry, ain’t it?” Johnny perked up.

“Aye, it’s strawberry.”

2006, August 15^th: Price nervously flattened his shirt again, holding his phone tightly. “f*ck, I wish you were here…”

“As do I. Do you want me to stay on?”

“No, I don’t want you to hear what they’ll have to say about me falling in love with a Russian.”

“I think it other way around. Russian fell in love with you.” Price scoffed, smiling softly. “I will be waiting for call back.”

“We’ll see if I live that long, mate.” He sighed heavily, hanging up. Okay…Everyone except MacMillian was here tonight: he was on mission. Gran Mary, Aunt Holly, dad, and mom. Even Evans…he took a deep breath and entered.

“John! How are you? Is the base as chaotic as ever?” He hugged his dad.

“Yeah, we’ve been pretty swamped. Aunt Holly. How’s all the paperwork?”

“Settling down now, thanks for helping out with the transfer to digital.”

“Course. Hey, mum.” She hugged him tightly, spinning him around as he grunted with a laugh. “Guess you’re feeling better?”

“Chipper as a chipmunk!” She said confidently. Evans shook John’s hand, raising an eyebrow as he used his left hand, not right. He always used his right hand, but he was having issues moving it right now: no one said mating bonds would be so painful and take so long to settle down. It was pleasant, catching up with everyone, but John couldn’t really appreciate it with his nerves all over the place. It was after dinner, but before his mum stood to do dishes that John cleared his throat.

“I, uh…found someone.” Holly’s eyes narrowed as his parents looked ecstatic. He didn’t blame her for being suspicious first: he rarely interacted with anyone not in the military, it being his comfort area, and he made it a point not to get attached to the younger recruits as anything but kids.

“Tell us about them, go on, go on!” He chuckled softly.

“Well, uh, he’s a real…special one. Makes me feel comfortable being more than just a LT. Makes me laugh, try new things in a way I feel safe with. And he’s supportive about what I do, too, with the omega and beta training.”

“What’s his name, silly?” Joshua laughed. John braced himself.

“Nikolai Voronin.” Instant silence, Evans shifting to be closer to Price as Holly’s jaw turned into concrete and Joshua looked horrified. Petricia blinked a few times.

“T-that’s not Russian, is it?”

“He’s Russian, mum.” He blinked as Holly got in his face.

“I told him to stay away from you!”

“Nik doesn’t have to follow orders: he’s not part of the military.”

“He’s a Russian, John. He’s dangerous.”

“No more dangerous than anyone else, mum.”

“He’s RUSSIAN, not anyone else!” Holly bellowed, hands twitching in anger. Evans said flatly,

“Alright, everyone take a step back and breath. John?” John untensed his jaw with significant effort. “Holly, I need you to calm down. I know how you feel about the Russians, but generalizations don’t do anything but cause more issues.”

“It’s not a generalization: Nik is going to get you hurt.” John snapped,

“It won’t be by his hands, but someone going after him. He DEFECTED, auntie. That puts a bigger target on his back than any of us could imagine. And even if it does, I know he’ll have my back as much as I have his.”

“He won’t.” Joshua said forcibly. “Russians don’t have loyalty and don’t care who they hurt.” John gripped his hands together tightly, forcing out in as respectful a tone he could get,

“Not Nik, dad. He’s as solid as Holly.” The rest of the night was a blur of yelling, warnings to not trust him, Evans keeping it from getting physical, and his mum breaking down 4 times. He stormed out, running his fingers along his wrist where his parental mark was still strong even through the pain. He knew they still cared, but he also knew they would…likely never approve. He called Nik, even as he knew it would be extremely early in their morning.

“Da?”

“Nik. You sleep?”

“Nyet. Are you okay?”

“…No. It, uh, went about what I expected. Which is to say, not very well.”

“Hmm. Why don’t you get back to base, and talk to me about, uh…CQT? Da, CQT. Until you fall asleep?”

“CQB, but solid plan, Nik. Spase Bogh.” Nik laughed.

“Awful pronunciation, but thank you for trying.”

Chapter 20: 2008

Chapter Text

2007, May 15^th: Keegan paused Elias before they headed out. “Hey, so I need the 20^th off. I already put in the PTO and everything, just clarifying.” Elias raised an eyebrow.

“We’re about to go on an at least 5-day mission, and you’re just now reminding me?”

“Yup. I just need the afternoon: flight leaves at 1400.”

“…We’ll see.” Kick gaped at him.

“Seriously? I have never seen you even take an hour since you joined up, what’s the occasion?”

“My friend is guilt tripping me into meeting her crush and roommate and letting her plan a party for me.”

“Party?” Merrick questioned with a frown.

“May 20^th. It’s my birthday.” Ajax snorted, Keegan looking at him in amusem*nt.

“You mean you joined at 17 on the dot? Like, on the DOT.”

“Nope. I joined at 16.” Everyone did a double take, even Elias. “I may have flubbed my paperwork by a year.”

“Wait, so how old are you right now?”

“18 on the 20^th, but 19 according to file.” Elias sighed heavily.

“I’ll fix that when we get back…” Ajax took a sigh of relief.

“Geez, I’m glad I don’t ask for your help during heat: you’re still a minor!” Keegan laughed.

“Not according to the government.”

“No, that’s disgusting.” Grim stated with a grimace. Keegan shrugged.

“Besides, if you had asked, I would’ve said no. The cat’d come out eventually, and I don’t want that on your conscious. After the 20^th, I’m open season.” Elias grimaced.

“Keep it dry, Keegan.” He smirked, nudging Ajax, and wiggling his eyebrows. Ajax snorted.

2007, May 20^th: Keegan threw a clean shirt, pants, and a hat in his bag, swearing softly under his breath. Kick called,

“Let’s go, Keegs! You’ve got 30 minutes to get through security!”

“I know, I know!” He jumped into the car, Kick gagging lightly.

“You reek!”

“You don’t exactly smell like sunshine and roses, either, Kick.” He pulled out his phone, texting Terri.

‘mind if I swipe a shower when I get there? Mission ran long.’ which was an almost lie. It ran exactly 3 hours over: they’d gotten to base at 12:40. Her text was quick.

‘Sure. It’ll be ready. Kate made a cake!’

‘No poison?’ He was fully aware Kate did not approve of their friendship. Given they’d never met in person, he couldn’t really hold that against her. He’d be suspicious is Ajax or Kick showed back up at base with some guy’s number from a laundromat. But Terri also knew most of the guys by texting pattern: Ajax, Kick, and Grim texted her when he was busy, and Merrick often filled her in about the situation when he was minorly injured.

‘lol, no: I watched the whole time.’ Kick stopped the car at the airport, Keegan saying quickly,

“Thanks, Kick!”

“Say hi to Terri for me!”

“Will do.” He shot a quick,

‘Kick says hi.’ As he darted inside. He was through security fast enough (they didn’t find the plastic shive he’d made and hid in the bottom of his sock), and raced onboard the plane. The trip was uneventful, thank f*ck, and he landed safely in the New York airport. He grabbed his small bag and pulled out his phone again. Terri had sent a picture of Kate rolling her eyes as a small smile tugged at her lip titled,

‘she’s embarrassed I said she made your cake’

‘lol. landed: be there soon. Lady’s looks hot.’

‘KEEGS! She’s literally reading the texts over my shoulder!’

‘lol. Again, not interested: just an observation.’ He checked the address again. Yup, he knew the route, and there was a convenience store along the way. He stopped by it, picking up some sugary stuff for the ladies. They were synced in heats and periods, which sucked for them, and Terri’s period ended yesterday. He paid for the snacks and the cup of coffee somewhere between number 5 and 12 of the day; and headed out as he buttoned his jacket a little tighter, slipping the plastic shiv into his pocket. He knew it was unusual for a young omega to be walking alone in and of itself, but to be seemingly defenseless in a city with no visible form of protection was flat out unheard of. He only had a jacket, a baclava to keep his face warm, a grocery bag, and coffee: to a stranger’s eyes, he was practically asking to be mugged or worse. Not that he needed any protection, but a stranger wouldn’t know that. The walk was without incident: most people were staying inside with how cold it was. So he looked up at Terri’s house, studying it carefully. 2 entries, 12 windows, 2 stories. Security cameras, one blind spot not covered at the kitchen window. He knocked loudly on the front door. Terri opened the door slowly-

“Keegs!”

“Hey, girlie-Woah!” She gave him a hug from the side, hip shoving into his own at the sheer speed she embraced him. “Heh, that excited to see me, huh? The missus home?”

“Keegs, come on.” Terri subtly begged, him raising his hands.

“I jest, I jest. Is the lady home?”

“Yeah, she’s finishing up the guest room.”

“Appreciate you shacking me up. I brought you something.” He waved the bag, her laughing.

“You do know a birthday is when the person gets gifts, not gives them?”

“I like you, girlie, so I’m getting you stuff. End of story.” She took it, looking inside.

“No licorice?” He grimaced, bumping her hip lightly.

“No, I got good stuff. Licorice is disgusting.” Terri gasped tauntingly, Keegan ruffling her hair as he stood on his tiptoes to reach her. Then she gagged.

“f*ck, man, when’d you last BATHE?”

“I just got off mission before I hopped a flight. Shower?”

“Use the yellow bottle, the other’s Kate’s. But you might need more shampoo-”

“I’ll be fine.” He said dismissively as he finished the cup of coffee, dropping it in the trash. He didn’t spend long in the shower, body locking up as he finally started to untense. Damn, that mission was intense…He pulled out his clean set of clothes, washing out his jacket and mask to get the smell of blood and peppermint out before hanging them to dry out of the way. One of the benefits of his natural scent being peppermint and rosemary was he didn’t usually smell bad: just STRONG. He left the bathroom to be face to face with brown-haired woman, an appraising look on her eyes. Kate. Definitely FBI or CIA: he’d seen that look before. Experienced: her eyes were hardened. Sugar scent: a beta. “Kate.”

“Keegan. What are your intentions with my roommate?” Right into it.

“Dragging her to hell and back for ice cream.” He replied easily. Kate raised an eyebrow.

“I’m dead serious. You randomly give anyone your number?” He shrugged in response, ducking under Kate’s arm to the hallway with ease. To be fair, she was a solid 6 inches taller than him: her arm wasn’t going to stop anything.

“Relax, lady. I just got off work and don’t want to get into a big thing. Let’s breathe and relax. Girlie, you got coffee in here?”

“No creamer or sugar. Regular or raspberry?” Keegan raised an eyebrow as he entered the kitchen.

“Raspberry?” Terri brandished a spoon as she poured herself some red-tinted coffee.

“Don’t judge me, mister. I get bored with regular.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Bored, huh? Saw your game: nice save.” Kate was settling into a chair, still glaring at him but now looking puzzled.

“Yeah, Terri’s really good.” She admitted. Keegan remained unfazed by her hard looks, making the instant black coffee easily. No glare came close to the death glare Rorke had given him when he called him ‘pal’. “What branch are you in?”

“Navy. Like the water. You?” She replied flatly,

“CIA.” He grunted: that tracked, and now he had a solid answer. “So you don’t know how to do laundry?”

“I figured it out: Terri was a big help with that. So how long you been dating?” Both women sputtered, Terri spitting out her coffee as Kate choked on air. Keegan had a sh*t-eating grin on his face at both of their bright red faces.

“Keegs!/what the f*ck?!” He leaned over the counter, grin plastered over his face.

“She likes you, girlie~ I’m going to go make a nest, have fun.” He ducked under the thrown book from Terri (her aim was horrible when it came to her arms), cackling as he darted into the guest room. He listened as he set up a rough burrow, both girls stuttering around it for a while before Terri finally admitted,

“I’ve had a crush since freshman year. You’re everything I wanted, but I didn’t want to tell you and lose you as a friend.”

“FRESHMAN YEAR?! I thought you were hot when we met! I didn’t even know you swung that way!” He cackled again. Hell, he loved solving drama through chaos. It was his favorite pastime beyond f*cking with people. He laid underneath the blankets, closing his eyes. f*ck, he was tired…He smirked to himself as the noise below died down, and he cautiously came out, sniffing. Sugar, lemon, no anger. Nice. He chuckled to himself as he realized they made lemonade together: the irony. He joined them in the living room-and ducked under a sock that got chucked at him, laughing.

“What the hell, Keegs?!” Terri admonished, still recovering from the embarrassment.

“It worked, didn’t it? I said I’d help you out.” He poured another cup of coffee-Kate asked with a frown,

“How many cups have you had today?” He frowned, looking down.

“Somewhere between 7 and 14.” Terri’s eyes bulged, Kate gaping at him.

“That’s your last cup! You’ll never sleep again!” He grinned widely, flopping onto the couch on the opposite side of Terri and Kate cuddling on the chair. “Seriously, you need to take care of yourself. For me?” He slumped, groaning half-heartedly.

“Fine, girlie. Right, should warn you: I do not respond well to alpha tones. I get very defiant, so.” Kate raised an eyebrow.

“I’m a beta. I don’t have an alpha tone. But how’d you get through the navy with that?”

“I swung at my drill sergeant when he used it: he swept it under the rug for a few favors.” He shrugged off. Kate scoffed in incredulousness, shaking her head as Terri snorted.

“You’re insane.” He smirked.

“Glad you know that now, lady.”

“Ready for cake and my presents? Oh, and your parents sent over theirs, too.”

“Sure, girlie.” He wished he could go back to Florida and say hi to them in person, but it was just too dangerous right now.

2007, November 17^th: Keegan rubbed his back as he checked his messages. 2 days ago, from Terri? He opened the image-and dropped his phone, swearing. Ajax looked at him from the bed, frowning. “Bad news?”

“No, just-why do things happen when I’m in HEAT?!” He dialed the number as fast as he could, pacing. “Terri, what the f*ck?!”

“Nice to hear from you, too, Keegs.” She laughed loudly, Keegan putting her on speaker.

“When did that happen? Why didn’t she tell me? When’s it happening?!” Ajax asked in sheer confusion,

“The hell is happening here?”

“Oh, hi, Ajax. I’m getting married to Kate.” He choked on air. “And we don’t have a date picked yet, it happened two days ago. She tried to call: you were busy, and she didn’t want to wait any longer.” Keegan was pacing.

“Well, congrats! I’ll forgive her for not telling me: I was in heat and my phone died.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better-oh. You two official?”

“We’re mated, yeah.” Ajax answered. “Not going farther than that.” They knew the likelihood they died was high. Being mated itself was a dangerous game to play with a squad member: marriage was a whole other thing.

“Speaking of the wedding, I wanted to ask you to be my best man, or man of honor: whichever title you prefer.”

“REALLY?!” Keegan exclaimed, bouncing in place with a massive grin on his face.

“Yeah, really. You’re the whole reason we even got anything out.”

“Uh, what are we talking responsibility wise, here?” Ajax asked.

“Helping me pick a dress with my mom, planning a bachelorette, and keeping my head on straight.”

“As it gets: you’re marrying a girl.” He added absently as he thought. “Hmm. You know I can’t always fly out there.”

“I know. You don’t have to attend the bachelorette with me, just plan it, and the keeping my head on straight is for the wedding itself. As for the dress picking-”

“I can make it to three fittings with PTO.” Keegan stated firmly, checking his calendar and available vacation.

“That’d be perfect. I’ll let you know at least 3 weeks in advance because I know your schedule is weird.”

“Congrats, girlie. I’ll do my best to be there with you.”

“I know you will, Keegs. Feel free to tell all the guys.”

“Oh, I will. Merrick’ll have my head if I don’t.” Surprisingly, the brick of a man had an absolutely gentle heart: no better than a marshmallow even if he didn’t indulge himself with it frequently. They talked for a bit longer, then she had to go. He burst out of the room with a grin.

“Guys! The girlie’s engaged!” Loud cheers erupted from everyone except Elias.

Price groaned as he answered the call. “Pr-”

“John! I did it!” He blinked blearily, trying to connect the voice to his memories, holding Nik in his free arm.

“…Kate?”

“Yes, it’s Kate, I did it!” He sped run through all of their most recent discussions. She was trying to get in command of an SAD, but she wouldn’t be able to tell him when she managed it. She was trying to get a new perfume that didn’t make her smell like cookies (which was hard when you had a sugar-based scent), but that wouldn’t warrant a call this late at night. She was trying to propose to Terri, her roommate and professional football play-

“Oh, you did it. Congrats. How’d it go?”

“So, I was trying to contact her very elusive best friend, but he wouldn’t answer. And I refused to wait anymore, because we had just had a really nice dinner and the sun was setting, so I pulled out the ring, and we were both wearing sweatpants-what a picture-and she said yes! Terri wanted to wait to let anyone know until we could get her best friend’s blessing, but he gave exactly 2 seconds before I called.” Price nodded with a smile. “Is Nik over?”

“How’d you know?”

“You’re talking quiet. Sorry I woke you up.”

“Kate, don’t worry about it. Nik’s a deep sleeper.” When he was next to Price, at least. “And I want to know as soon as you’ve got a date.”

“Speaking of. I was hoping you would be willing to be my man of honor?”

“Me?” His volume spiked slightly, his eyes widening as he tried to process that in his sleepy state. “Sure, uh…what are we…talking here?”

“Dress picking, bachelorette, and helping with decisions in general. Neither Terri or I are very good at picking personal stuff like that. A forewarning. Terri, why don’t you explain about Keegan?”

“Right. Hi, John.”

“Terri. Congrats on the engagement. Kate’s a lucky girl to have you.”

“Aw, you know it’s the opposite.” John chuckled lightly. “Anyways, my best friend, Keegan, has a very…weird medical dilemma. Whenever he hears an alpha tone, he…how did he put it? He reverts to a feral state for a few seconds and becomes aggressive. I don’t use my alpha tone, so it’s is a nonissue for me. But I know you occasionally use it to increase your volume and get people to listen, so I wanted to give you a warning as far in advance as I can.” John nodded. That sounded like a really bizarre medical condition: made up if he were to guess, but if both Kate and Terri were warning him about it, he’d take it seriously.

“Got it. Tone control as best I can when near him.”

“Thanks, John. And thanks for helping me plan this.”

“You’re a good friend, Laswell. Possibly my best not including Nik.”

“Speaking of Nik, do you plan on getting married?” Price choked, Nik instantly shooting up in alarm as he turned bright red.

“I-I gotta go, bye!”

“Price? Are you well?”

“Y-yeah, just a…question I wasn’t expecting. Uh, Kate’s engaged.” Nik exclaimed happily in Russian as Price tried to push the panic, at the question that he didn’t know the answer to, down.

2007, November 15^th: “Keegan, this is your last PTO of the year.” Elias warned. Kick teasing with a,

“Ooh, boss is mad~”

“Shut it, Kick. And yeah, it is. It’s the actual wedding, and I don’t take time off for me. Because I like this job.”

“You might as well be bonded with your f*cking breeders.” He grumbled. Keegan’s eye twitched, and Ajax grabbed his shoulder.

“Better than your knot-dropping ass, Scarecrow.” He snapped back, a low warning growl. The guys could say whatever the hell they wanted about Keegan. Half the time, it was in jest and the half it wasn’t, he dismissed just as easily. But NO ONE got to talk about Terri or her fiancé like that. EVER. Merrick snorted with Grim, Elias giving them a warning glare as Keegan headed out, checking to make sure he packed the right suit for the occasion. Black suit, black tie. Good, good. He still couldn’t believe he was her best man/man of honor: they couldn’t agree on which was more accurate for the relationship or duties, so just alternated it. He was warned that Kate had an alpha as her own best man, who was a military man from Britian, so he was bracing himself for that interaction on the plane ride in. To his surprise, someone was waiting for him with a sign that read ‘Keegan P. Russ’. Fishing hat, mustache. He could smell a peppery scent on him: either long-distance relationship or a fading one. Looked both bored and wary. Keegan paused in front of him, raising an eyebrow.

“Who are you?”

“John Price.” Alpha; moss and cocoa scent was his own: unusual but not unheard of. He knew an entire family that smelled like pinecones and some other scent. British. “You’re Keegan?” He didn’t blame him for being surprised. An alpha making friends with a pretty small omega with no intent to mate was unusual. An omega traveling alone, with a single hip bag with an equal dual scent (something he inherited from his mom and surrogate) of peppermint and rosemary, in America (with the 3^rd highest omega kidnapping rate behind Japan and Russia)? That was absurd.

“I am. How do you know Terri?” He knew this was Kate’s best friend/man. He wasn’t sure how he’d respond.

“I’m on the…” He paused, seemingly confused for a bit. “I’m on Kate’s side: her best man. Terri asked me to pick you up so you didn’t have to walk to the ceremony: said you’d cut it close.” Traditionalist, or at least raised that way.

“Yeah, mission ran long.” He said vaguely, on edge around this stranger. John pressed slightly,

“Mission?” Keegan didn’t offer more information than,

“In the military.” As he continued staring warily. John looked him up and down.

“Same.” John nodded firmly: evidently, Keegan had made his cut with that simple interaction, since he now was faced the other way and walking along. “You brought your suit?”

“In my bag. I’ll change when I get there. And I need a shower: f*cking bastards always push me to the edge.” He grumbled, following Price. He opened the door to the car: a traditionalist indeed! Keegan could get used to this: too bad he was taken, and John might be, too based on the pepper scent that wasn’t going anywhere.

“How come you walk?”

“No license.” He said with a shrug. “New mate or old?” John went red, gripping the steering wheel tightly. Keegan got a sh*t-eating grin again. British man embarrassed easy, huh? “New~ who’s the lucky one?”

“…Nikolai.” Russian. Weren’t Britian and Russia at odds right now? That had to be an interesting dynamic.

“Parents approve?” John’s eyes hardened.

“No.” That was a hard no and a very sensitive topic. Keegan made a mental note not to bring it up again. “You?” He scoffed, pulling up his gloves to reveal the bite marks on both hands. John raised an eyebrow.

“Pack bonded with my squad, have a mate there. You interested in a harem?” John choked, grip tightening sharply on the wheel. Keegan snorted at the reaction.

“NO! I’m good with Nik. Terri never said you liked that kind of humor.” Keegan raised an eyebrow, teasing,

“Who says it was a joke?” As he leaned back in the seat. John said warily,

“Right. So what branch are you in? Navy or army?”

“Navy man all the way.” Keegan answered flatly, looking around the unfamiliar area. John was following the map he’d memorized, but that didn’t mean he would continue to follow the route. “You like water?”

“It’s fine enough. Your pack lets you wander around?” There were the issues he was expecting.

“Big tough alpha gonna protect little old me? Alpha strong~” He taunted, now with a warning tone in his voice. John’s eyes narrowed as he watched the roads.

“Even Britain has heard about America’s kidnapping problem. I can be concerned for Terri’s friend.” Fair. The implication was still setting Keegan’s temper off. He said flatly,

“Save your worry for someone who gives a sh*t about it.” Then took a deep breath, checking the street name as they turned down it. Correct road: still on route. John snapped, alpha tone making Keegan see red.

“What’s the issue with worrying over an-” Keegan came to with a hand on the wheel, the other hand closed around John’s neck, and John having a knife to his throat that stopped him from getting closer. He snarled,

“Don’t f*cking use that tone with me. I’ll bite a bitch.”

“…Sorry.” John said forcibly, putting his knife away once Keegan backed off. “It comes out sometimes when I get heated: didn’t realize it was that a sore spot.” Keegan said in a warning hiss, hand releasing the wheel,

“It’s not.” He took a deep breath, cracking his neck before explaining flatly, “I’ve got Alpha defiance disorder: only manifests with alpha tones. Gets me a sh*t ton of trouble.” John frowned, looking forward but clearly keeping an eye on him warily.

“How’d you get in the military?” John asked in puzzlement. Keegan smirked, crossing his arms.

“That’s for me to know, John. That’s the turn.” John complied, a puzzled look on his face.

“You memorized the map.”

“I was planning on walking, big boy.” John turned a brighter red, and Keegan leaned closer, whispering as he parked, “Some people like taming folks like me, and others like getting put in their place~” He laughed as John turned into a tomato, hopping out of the car easily. “Hey, girlie, which cabin’s yours?!”

“Over here!” Terri called loudly, Keegan joining her as John desperately tried to recover from his half-joking statement, cowering behind the wheel as he stayed in the car. His Alpha DD did cause issues with standard military groups. The Ghosts were an exception for one simple reason: they were all black listed. Even if he did attack the alphas (which he had, particularly Elias and Rorke), as long as he did his job, they wouldn’t get rid of him because he was GOOD at what he did. Terri was worryingly pacing as the photographer was on the way. Keegan handed her the axe from the wall, plastic shiv now in his pocket. Just in case: there were a lot of strangers here. “Keegs?” She asked in puzzlement.

“Throw it.”

“You can’t throw an axe this big: it’s almost half your height!” She laughed. He demonstrated otherwise. “Oh, that’s awesome!”

“Want me to show you?”

“Definitely!” It calmed her down by the time the photographer came in, and the wedding went without a hitch, though John evaded him for the day, face brightening whenever they made eye contact. Keegan did nothing to make him relax, blowing him kisses each time they locked eyes to make the big man flush and look away. Keegan was going to enjoy every time he got to hang out with that guy. Though, his mate, the Russian Nikolai, may not approve of Keegan’s teasing…

Chapter 21: 2008-2009

Chapter Text

2008, December 25^th: Nikolai laughed as Price ushered him inside, grinning. Kate waved as well, Terri calling from the kitchen, “Merry Christmas!” Nikolai called back with a wide smile the same in Russian.

“I was not expecting party!” Kate laughed lightly, and pulled John to the side briefly.

“Keegan’s not coming: he’s busy.” John sighed in relief.

“He’s a good guy, but he just is…no.” Kate nodded.

“He’s unique. Your folks sent your present, and your grandma included THAT one for Nik.”

“Really?” Price said numbly, beaming.

“Though, Holly didn’t send one.”

“Figures: she’s the most pissed. Nik, look!” Nikolai took the present from John’s grandmother, peering at it oddly. It was so small. “Kate, I know it’s not present time, and we’re doing dinner first, but-”

“Go for it, Nik. John’s grandma sent something really special.”

“If you are sure…” He said uncertainly, Price practically bouncing in place with a nervous smile. He opened it-and saw a golden band. His eyes widened, and he looked up at Price, blinking rapidly. “…Are you sure?”

“Absolutely-HMPH!” John hit the ground as Nikolai tackled him, laughing and crying all at once. “Err, is that yes?”

“Da, DA, absolutely! But, uh, why did your babushka have it?”

“Uh, it was my grandpa’s.” Nikolai’s eyes swelled with tears even more. One of Price’s family at least realized they were happy…

2009, October 29^th: Farah could barely remember what food tasted like. What water felt like. “Farah! Sister, wake up!”

“H-Hadir?” Speaking hurt. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been in here. It didn’t really matter: she hadn’t broken and she wouldn’t break.

“Yes, let me see you.” She shuffled to her weary feet, stumbling along the ground to the doorway. Hadir was right across from her. His cough was still there: the gas had permanently injured his throat. Her cough was from lack of water. “How long have you been in solitary?” She said weakly,

“10 days?” That was how many times she had seen the night fall, but it didn’t seem right somehow.

“You look sick.” He said softly, the pineapple scent bringing her a comfort she had missed.

“No food, no water.” She wheezed out.

“Sister.”

“I can take it. It’s okay.” She didn’t even have saliva to swallow anymore. Hadir’s scent-her own scent-was making her hungry.

“Why did they put us together like this?” She shrugged slightly, needing to conserve strength and she didn’t have an answer. “If they mean to use me to hurt you, they will have to kill me-”

“No. I need you alive.” He revealed a key. She raised an eyebrow, and he shrugged. So a key to something that neither of them knew what it was. It could prove useful anyways. He threw it to her, and she hid it as Hadir said quickly,

“General Barkov is coming. He knows about the messages. Does he know?” That Farah was Karim? She didn’t know. She couldn’t tell, and the sheer act of thinking was causing her pain. She backed away from the door as the monster came.

“Look, a family reunion.” Farah winced as Hadir was electrocuted and dragged away as they spoke Russian. The cursed language made her hair stand on end, but she couldn’t afford to be emotional. She needed to conserve energy. She couldn’t break. “I hope you had a nice visit with your brother. You may never see him again.” Yes, she would. “Go in the corner.” He liked punishing them as one would a child. It fed some sort of ego trip, belittling them. “Any plans you have to escape, you will soon forget.” He would never take her spirit. If she died pursuing freedom for her country, so be it. “Face me now.” She didn’t want to. He made her sick. The scent of vanilla was permanently tainted. But she did so anyways. “It’s hotter than hell in this sh*t-hole country. You must be so thirsty.” Ah. She would be waterboarded today. She trudged along as best she could with the well-fed man. She sat down, and set her eyes on the familiar spot on the ceiling. Finding something to focus on made things…easier. “There will be no escape, Farah. No one is coming to rescue you. I am in control here, and I can make your life much, much easier.” She didn’t want easy. She wanted safety and freedom for Urkistan. “Now, tell me about Commander Karim, and the failed message.” No. She didn’t regret asking for assistance from the British. Even if they did not come, she would not tell this man anything. She glared up at him, and with every ounce of venom and boiling blood she had, snarled out,

“Go f*ck yourself.” She knew what was coming, and braced for it. She took some drinks of the water, desperate enough to drink the likely toxic fluid, but focused on breathing. Such a waste of water. This could help 3 families, this water…

“One more time. Who is Karim?”

“f*ck you.” She spat with more venom. Then he dragged in an achingly familiar woman: Azadeh.

“I found one of your ‘sisters’.”

“I said nothing, Farah!”

“It’s okay, Azadeh.”

“Quiet!” He barked. “Her life is in your hands now, Farah. Stay awake, she lives. Pass out, she dies.” Farah refused. She kept fighting, even as her muscles screamed, her stomach gnawing in her ears, Barkov screaming at her. She wouldn’t let him win over her spirit. The torture stopped, her breathing ragged. “Congratulations, Farah. You saved a life. I want you to tell me the truth, or she dies.” Oh, no.

“I did what you asked!”

“No. I said the truth. Who is Karim?” She couldn’t…Farah closed her eyes.

“Eat sh*t, you f*cking dog.” He raised the gun, Farah shouting in Arabic, “I’m sorry, Azadeh!” She smiled as she died, Farah getting struck in the skull. She woke in her cell, Barkov having prepared food. The smell nauseated her, and he chucked it against the wall, angrily shouting at her. She stared at him blankly with half-fallen tears in her eyes. Another sister dead. He slammed her into the rough bed, cutting her arm on the hewn wood. “Your brother took a key from me. Where is it?”

“Did you lose a key?”

“One is missing: we have others.”

“What does the key open?” He scoffed.

“You think you’re so smart. Karim.” She spat in his face. He had known, and still chose to kill Azadeh. He struck her face again, Farah wincing. “Now, where is the key your brother stole from me?” Farah didn’t answer, and he struck her again. Her body was numb at this point: she felt no fear. It had been beaten out of her. “This country is a breeding ground for terrorists! I am here to bring law and order to this land, and no terrorist thief will harm my country!” He had put on gloves. That was not a good sign. He began choking Farah, exclaiming he would protect Russia. She didn’t understand him. Her people had done nothing to Russia…an explosion? She dimly recognized the sound as he stopped choking her, loud Russian echoing around her as she tried to stop coughing. “You didn’t save your people, Farah Karim! You killed them!” She unbound herself deftly as soon as he was gone: he had failed to tighten them enough. She broke the spoon’s head off, and pried open the grate in her cell. She got to a cell where there was a dead prisoner, using a loose brick to press the button that released all the cells. And she went through, killing a Russian and stealing his pistol. She released her sisters, and the keys were to the gun safe. She unlocked it for her sisters. Darine asked,

“Did Barkov killed Azadeh down there?”

“Yes. Let’s kill him. The guards are coming back: we ambush.”

“How?” One of her sisters, Ayah, asked, terrified. Darine said softly,

“Point and shoot until they fall. Like Farah taught us.”

“Barkov locked the others in the basem*nt: let’s get to them before they are all dead.” It was dangerous. These sisters had never seen battle except for Darine. Barkov fled, the coward. Farah did not feel fear. She had not since her baba died. Even so, regret was a common ache. Perhaps if she had been honest, Azadeh would have lived. But she could not risk the maybe. Maybe if she had not tried to get the message out, they would not have been captured. But they needed help: she did not have the resources or training to do this alone. She burst into the door-and it rammed right back into her face, her back hitting the ground as she was surrounded by Russians. She was going to die…the roof exploded, the Russians dead in seconds as 3 men came down. She got over Ayah, growling in between coughs and wiping the blood away from her nose-

“Watch your fire.” British? “Who’s Commander Karim?” Farah said softly, still protecting Ayah,

“I am.”

“We got your message. SAS: I’m Lieutenant John Price. Where’s the rest of you lot?”

“In there, straight ahead.” He nodded, handing her a small square of fabric.

“Get that stopped, stay close. Boys, let’s go!” They were burning the factory, with the prisoners inside. “Burning evidence!”

“And prisoners!”

“Breaching: stay back!” Bullets sprayed, Farah at the door instantly, trying to pry it open. “All clear, let’s get them out.”

“I-it’s locked, I can’t-” The British man put an-pickax?-through the handle, Farah helping him pry it loose. Hadir collapsed into her arms, coughing wildly.

“Sister-”

“It’s okay.”

“They came?”

“Yes. Catch your breath, brother. Collect survivors, and supplies. We’re leaving.” They collected everything they could, Price talking to others quickly as he directed them out of the city. To her surprise, he started speaking Arabic.

“Barkov’s going to be back to collect his dead: he’ll make you pay for this.”

“We will make them pay.” Hadir hissed. Farah set a hand on his shoulder.

“We’ll be ready.” Price nodded vaguely, looking off for a bit.

“My men cleared the road to the north: you can camp there, it’s safe.”

“Thank you.” Farah said softly. Hadir said grimly,

“The revolution begins now sister.”

“The WAR begins now, brother.” Price nodded again.

“Even war has a high ground: stay on it. Bravo 6, wheels up in two-Nik? It’s bad luck to see your partner on your wedding day.” Today was his wedding day? Why did he come here, to help them, on his wedding day?

Price chuckled to himself as he climbed into the helicopter, hugging Nik. “Geez, Nik! What am I going to do with you?”

“Marry me, da? Are they well?”

“As well as can be. Thanks for letting me go.”

“Freedom’s fire cannot be put out, my mate, and Barkov is a stain on my own country. I hope they can kill him, though it will be dangerous.” Price ruffled his hair, shaking his head.

“You ever realize your eyes get brighter when you think something might be dangerous?”

“Hmm. Maybe that’s why I look at you like that?” John snorted as Nik grinned at him. “Kate and MacMillian are waiting for us at courthouse, and your Evans is hosting afterparty at bar.”

“Alright. Let’s get married, pepper spray.” Nik started actively dying as he laughed, Price joining in.

Chapter 22: 2011-2014, March

Chapter Text

2011, December 2^nd: Price polished his new button. Nikolai had just left that morning, so he could still smell the peppers in the air, on his wrist, his neck, his-he flushed as he tried to push that thought away. He was meeting the new omegas today. MacMillian had retired when Price became captain last week, which meant HE was in charge of the omegas. He headed to basic, looking over the alphas snigg*ring at the omegas (who the hell decided that was a good idea? Price would bet his name started with Ass and ended with hole). Some were cowering away from the larger people. Others were standing between the alphas and the scared omegas. Some of them were trying to soothe the terrified ones. “Good to see you all. You’ve gotten through gun practice, so we’ll go right into CQB. The enemy targets have been scented as well as the civilians. We’ll go one by one, see what we’re looking at. Any primary volunteers?” Half the alphas came forward. “You.”

“My name is-”

“I don’t care. Let’s go. Clear it in less than 60 seconds, FNG record is 30.”

Simon looked up at the mustached man. He seemed intense, this Captain Price…he did well, better than he expected. He got through at 37 seconds. He could easily keep up with the alphas. Which was good: he still hadn’t told anyone he WASN’T an alpha. Only his mom, Tommy, and his bastard of a father knew. If anything, he encouraged them to believe he was an alpha. It made this easier. He also hadn’t told anyone he was 14. He needed to get out. He needed to: he could feel his sanity, his stability slipping away every second he was in that house. Tommy would protect their mom: he needed to get away. He was on heat blockers, and he had been since he presented. He’d never even had a heat, and he didn’t plan on changing that. He didn’t want to have anything to do with his gender. Sure, the school nurse told him just to use them until he was 12, to prevent the bullying from getting worse, but he wasn’t going to stop. It made everything easier. Simon noticed there was an old retiree that guarded the heat ward: people called him MacMillian. When he wasn’t there, another alpha was: General Holly Price. That made him nervous. Why did the heat ward have guards? The army was supposed to be BETTER than that. He dismissed it as best he could. No one would find out. He was safe here.

2014, January 7^th: “Let go!” Johnny exclaimed as Iris bodily threw him into the truck, climbing into the driver’s seat as Johnny tried to get the door to open. He exploded once the door was closed,

“What the hell were you thinking, Johnny?!”

“I want to join the army!”

“You’re f*cking 14! You’re not doing any of the sh*te.”

“I can’t wait! I want to join the army!”

“Tough luck, f*cker: you’re not joining at 14! At 16, sure, but not at 14! How many offices did you get to?”

“None of your business!” He snapped right back.

“You’re my cousin: it’s my business! How many?!”

“46!” Johnny snarled, slumping in his seat.

“Forty-JOHNNY, YOU f*ckING TART!”

“It’s f*cking fine!”

“No, it’s not! Does Auntie know-”

“She doesn’t know sh*te!” Johnny exploded. “She’s swamped with 80-some kids, the B’s mourning their mum, the F’s divorce, and the I’s!” Iris had heard: 4 people in his family shot dead during a robbery 2 months ago: the 2 survivors had moved in with his own mum. Johnny continued in tears, “She didn’t even know I aced science, and she don’t have time to care!”

“Why the military, Johnny? Do you think they will care anymore? They’re strangers!”

“AT LEAST THEY’RE THAT!” He sobbed out. “And they won’t stop me from doing sh*te to help!” Iris parked the car, rubbing his head as Johnny tried to calm down.

“I’ll be right back: do not leave this car.” He stepped out to scroll through his phone to ‘Sunshine’. He was going to regret this.

“Iris? What are you calling for: you’re starting a 2 week down time.”

“I’m going to do something stupid, Casper. I just rounded up one of me cousins-Johnny-at the recruitment office.”

“…The problem with that?”

“He’s 14.”

“Oh.” Came the flat answer from the man.

“Once again, about to do something stupid. He’s dead set on joining, but I ain’t letting him until he’s 16. But he won’t stop trying, because he’s a stubborn runt. He’s been to 46 offices, mate.”

“Hot damn, he definitely won’t stop. What’s the stupid part?”

“I’m going to train him.”

“Oh, that stupid. Alright, I’m with you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I know an abandoned lot that we can run him through, a practice rifle. I’m there, on two conditions.”

“Aye?” Casper took a dramatic pause.

“We don’t tell Holly-she will kill us-and I pick the music.”

“Oh, sh*te, you’re going to blast Bone Licker, ain’t you?”

“Abso-f*cking-lutely. Agreed?”

“Agreed, sunshine.” Iris took a deep breath, and stepped back in. Johnny wasn’t crying anymore, at least. “Okay, Johnny. Here’s the deal. You are not joining the army until you are 16.” He went to argue, but Iris raised his voice. “That is nonnegotiable, John.” He pouted with his arms crossed. “What IS negotiable is what we do with the year and a few months between when I’ll let you go back to join. Because me and a squad mate of mine are willing to teach you, but I need to know you’re going to take it seriously.” John opened his mouth, saying hotly as he glared at the ground,

“I take things seriously-”

“JOHN. Look at me: I am being as blunt as I can.” John made eye contact. “The army is not a place you can just get out of: it sticks with you permanently, and you’ll see things and do things that no one else will be able to understand. You’re likely to die. The army is not the place someone should run to in order to get recognition. If you train with me, you are quite literally signing the rest of your childhood away, because children don’t survive a warzone. Do you understand?”

“…Aye, I do. And I’m going to take it seriously. I want to join the army.” Iris nodded.

“Then call me Iris, John, because you’re going to be one hell of a good soldier.”

2014, February 12^th: John looked up at the man, blinking. He leaned down to be eye level. “Damn, you are a small one.” He blurted out,

“How come you’re wearing a mask? What’s your name? What are we doing first? How’d you meet Iris? What’s your specialty? Can I see your face?” The big man laughed.

“He talks a lot, sunshine: I warned you.” Iris chuckled lightly.

“I wear a mask because I’ve got some scars under it. I’m Casper. Your dick of a cousin calls me sunshine: you don’t get to. First is gun safety and disassembly. And me and Iris met during the Russian terrorist attack. He’d just joined my unit, literally, and a nuke went off in the middle east. We had the fun task of stopping more nukes from hitting the US, and we both almost died. My specialty is interrogation. And sure, you can see my face, if you’re not squeamish like Iris there.”

“I’m not.” John said confidently.

“That’s what they all say.” John’s face blanked as he saw the warped and melted flesh, the bottom half of his face burned and scraped so clean of anything human it was impossible to distinguish what he may have looked like before. “This happened-” His mouth stretched the red and white skin unnaturally, smile tilted and looking like someone had haphazardly taped a picture onto a moving car. “-when I got caught by Russians in Turkey. Iris got me out with Smoke, one of our squad members, and I cracked a joke: hence why he calls me sunshine. 2 years of surgery and recovery before I could go back on mission.”

“Oh.” Was all John could say. He made a mental note to NEVER push someone to remove their mask: that had to have some bad memories attached to the event… Casper ruffled his hair.

“Let’s get to work now that you’re all spooked.”

2014, March 5^th: Price was now comfortable with his beta/omega training position. Only about 10 to 20 joined a year, so he could focus his efforts. The fact Nikolai was now about 40/60 on his time spend in Britian compared to Russia was also improving his mood, and the fact he could regularly visit Russia thanks to having an official mate there (and the small fact the Loyalists had won the civil war at this point) was even better. “Good to see you all. You’ve gotten through gun practice, so we’ll go right into CQB. The enemy targets have been scented as well as the civilians. We’ll go one by one, see what we’re looking at.”

Kyle could hear his mom in his ear as his nose was burning. “The army isn’t really designed for scent-sensitive people. They can join, but a lot of them are overstimulated fast just in training. Let me and your dad help you learn.” He was grateful they did. The scents were overwhelming even with his practices of focusing on the ones that were most vital. He applied the wax to his neck and under his nose: it made it easier to focus with a solid scent. Captain Price notice, and didn’t seem to approve of such: he’d show otherwise. Just because he was a beta, and just because he was scent-sensitive, didn’t mean he couldn’t join the army. CQB was a blur of movement and precise firing. He was breathing heavily when he finished, wiping his burning nose clear of the wax. Captain Price whistled. “Good work, all of you.” Kyle checked the time-he did that in 19 seconds? Holy sh*t. “Let’s get even better.”

Chapter 23: 2014

Chapter Text

2014, October 18^th: Simon stood at attention while his commander talked at him. Manuel ‘El Gordo’ Roba, Zaragoza drug cartel. He was meant to be expanding business, all the way into terrorism. But that was US, not UK.

“If I may, sir.” The commander stumbled slightly. “What’s this got to do with us?” He scoffed.

“Besides the face terrorists blowing up the US doesn’t make for a secure world; the Americans requested our help. 2 previous teams went after Roba and they were unregistered disasters. We trained some of their SEALs. They need a shot in the arm, you’ll go give it to them.” General Price snapped,

“Do you have a problem with Americans?” No. His only issue with them was their awful punk-rock. Captain Price snapped,

“Sargeant Riley is expressing concern for his men, general. We’ve pulled him as they headed to Iran. He’s the best I’ve got available. He’s your man.” Riley knew the truth. He’d taken the last year or so off to get Tommy back on the up and up: he was falling down the alcohol rabbit hole this time, and his mate couldn’t get his head on straight. Joseph was doing well, though: Simon never begrudged the chance to meet his little nephew. Only 3: the best result from teen pregnancy to ever happen.

2014, October 21^st: Riley glanced at Vernon as he opened his mouth. Another alpha. Looks like even the ‘land of freedom’ had issues with sexism, too. He wasn’t surprised, just disappointed. “I don’t know what they told you, Riley, but I’m the one who requested you. You ran a course with one of our best.” Right, the American named…Graves, if he remembered right. He could be mistaken: his memory wasn’t the most reliable. “I said that one’s sharp, he’s going to be running sh*t one day.’” He kept talking. Riley rezoned in when he said, “Only son of a meg I trust. I was on the last mission, Riley. Me and that guy you ran with were the only ones of 12 to come back. They knew they were coming. General Shepard pulled Graves, left me here.” Riley said instantly,

“Refuse the mission.” If there was a mole, it wasn’t worth the risk.

“And send another group of bastards to die? The only way out is through. I need Roba and a list of names. Mission’s doomed, Riley, and I need it to succeed anyways. Now let’s go meet the team.” Riley stood next to all of them. Sparks, Cumberland, Washington, Sykes, and Vernon with Riley being the only Englishman on the team…

2014, October 31^th: Riley looked down at the bloody body. Sykes was dead: parachute ‘malfunction’. But he had checked it 7 times: his own team said he was paranoid about it. One possible mole dead. He snorted. “What’s funny, you bastard?” Riley shook his head.

“Just thought of a joke, that’s all.” They got to the town easily enough, Riley studying the hotel from the outside as the others settled in. He focused on Vernon when he called his name.

“The joke?”

“Oh. Why don’t blind men sky dive? Scares the sh*t out of their dogs.” Vernon shook his head with a sigh.

“That a common Brit joke?”

“No: humor’s a bit cracked, that’s all. Anyways, you’re assuming Roba will talk.”

“I’ll tell you, Riley. I spent a couple years in interrogation. Sometimes sweet, sometimes salty, but there isn’t a man alive that doesn’t have a breaking point.” True… “I’m reconning the hacienda tonight: need you with the men. Watch Cumberland in particular. He’s a last-minute replacement. Someone’s a rat: find out who before the festival.” Riley didn’t want to talk to the men. They weren’t safe. It was exposed here. But he watched them regardless. One was talking about his dad being in Vietnam, and making him shut up by lying about killing a man who ate 40 babies. Simon knew someone in the world was sick enough to do that. One of them called over to him,

“What about you, English? Why’d you get in this business?” He wasn’t safe with them. But he was mostly honest.

“I was an apprentice butcher. The world changed, so I signed up. I’m good, so I get sent overseas to train bastards.”

“That’s so generic. You had to have made that up.”

“My story.” He mumbled, fiddling with his drink. He didn’t drink. He had a weak gut: got drunk easy. Being disoriented was dangerous. Deadly. He had to keep his head clear.

“You and 5 million others, but not special forces, not guys who get flown everywhere to show people how it’s done. What made you need to get up every day and stick your knot in a meat grinder?”

“Queen and country.” He said sourly, eyes locked on Washington.

“Right. I saw we split up, meet back at the motel in the morning.”

“Not happening: too dangerous.” Washington groaned.

“Come on, English! The more we give in, the more we blend in. we could all be dead in a couple days. If we were blown, we’d be dead now. I say we have a right to some old-fashioned R&R.” An omega came up. She couldn’t have been more than 14. It made his stomach churn that these alphas weren’t even fazed as they dismissed her to him. He said softly,

“Not tonight, luv.” She went lower-he gruffly pushed her off, growling as his scent spiked, “Not. Tonight.”

“L-Lo siento.” He headed out, scowling and tracking all of the others.

2014, November 1^st: Simon laid out the events that got another possible mole killed to Vernon. “I have no idea if this was a coincidence.” Vernon chuckled.

“What do you think I’m going to say about coincidences, Riley?”

“We abort?” Riley suggested. This whole situation made his stomach churned.

“Can’t. Roba definitely is expanding his business. I saw at least 6 Jihadists. We abort now, we lose them across the border. No, we go. No one knows we moved up the timetable. Leave Cumberland to me.” The mission went sour quick. Major Vernon and Cumberland got caught. Simon said flatly,

“Plan B. Sparks, go around the back and set up sniper on exit. Washington, set the C4 along the east wall. Give me 10.”

“For-” Simon was gone, already inside-Cumberland had his junk cut off, tears streaming down his face. “Keep it down. I’m giving you morphine and we’ll get you home.” He whispered out.

“Little sh*t was a spy, Riley.” Vernon. Vernon was safe.

“For who?”

“CIA, probably. Doesn’t matter. I told you Roba’s got eyes and ears everywhere, especially in the brothels. That’s why Roba’s men showed up. They had a talk with Cumberland’s contact-” Wait, what? “Apparently, the little sh*t saw me sabotage Syke’s pack at the last minute. They’re sending a delta team for me at dawn.” A bullet went through Cumberland’s head right in front of Simon. “You’ve got to admit, that noise he was making was pretty annoying. Anyway, by the time they get here, we’ll all be gone. And Sparks and Washington, too, who we already have in chains.” Vernon was not safe. NOT SAFE. He was fast planning an emergency escape as Vernon kept talking. He jammed the needle into one of their arms, elbowing another in the skull and stealing a gun. He bolted-and yelped in pain as a bullet when clean through his thigh, collapsing to the ground as he gasped in pain. He started chuckling as he tried to stop the bleeding, surrounded by enemies. He was going to be tortured. What a riot.

Chapter 24: 2015

Chapter Text

2015, February 1st: Simon felt sick. It wasn’t the torture, he thought. Something was making his head dizzy, his body hot. He couldn’t get the discomfort to leave. He could hear them speaking Spanish outside of his cell. It hurt. f*ck, it hurt so bad, he needed something-what did he need? Something…inside. His eyes widened. sh*t. Oh, f*ck, he was going into his first heat. His first heat ever, after pushing them off for 10 years. He tried to fight it down. He tried to press down the wild instincts he didn’t understand, he’d never felt. But it wasn’t enough. By the end of the day, he was whining, desperate, agonizing. Roba laughed. “An adult omega going into their first heat by the sounds of it.” Simon growled at him, snapping his jaws at what he KNEW was an enemy even as everything in him begged for an alpha to help him. He was dragged away, locked in a room, and was given a skull, an alpha clinging to his back. “In your hands you hold your mother’s skull.” Mom? “The woman at your shoulders is named Pilar. She can do things any omega would die for. This is how we will start each day. It is your choice.” It was easy. He would ALWAYS pick his mum. The woman was escorted away, him trying and failing not to whine. “Your choices have consequences, mi amigo. This is yours.” Roba threw him a knife with no sheath, and barked in Spanish something. It was another 2 hours before Simon gave in, clutching the knife as his only source of relief from this aching pain.
2015, March 7th: Simon couldn’t tell you anything. He could barely remember his name. But he remembered the skulls. And he remembered the pain in his lower gut. And he could still feel the pain in his chest from the hook. And he remembered he would NEVER obey that bastard Roba.
2015, July 7th: Simon didn’t hate them. He didn’t. How could he: they didn’t have time to get him. He was too injured. Too tired. But he hated Roba. He hated the stench of rotting flesh. He hated the feeling of teeth biting into his hand at every hit, the taste of dirt. He hated the burning of his bloody knuckles, the searing pain of his nails getting ripped out. The squirming of the maggots against his bare skin. The blisters in his lungs from trying to breath. He got out. He didn’t know how: it was dark when he went in, and light when he came out. Where was safety? He needed safety…
2015, July 8th: Terri was pacing, hands shaking. Kate had been scrambled to handle the mess, but Terri was worried sick for her and her best friend. Sure, Keegan was a private man with a gutter mind and calm when he probably shouldn’t be, but he was HER private man. The phone went to voicemail instantly again, and she redialed. She would keep calling until she knew he was alive. Kate was in DC, so she was secure. Terri had no idea where Keegan was- it was picked up.
“Keegs! Are you okay, are you alive?!”
“W-who-f*ck, don’t stop!” He whined helplessly. “Who is this?”
“I-it’s Terri…”
“Girlie-HMM~” Was he getting f*ckED right now?! “S-sorry, I’m kinda-sh*t~ busy…”
“Do you have any idea what’s going on?”
“I’m too horny to care-keep going, like that…”
“You’re in heat.”
“As a bitch…” He panted desperately. Terri smiled weakly.
“Then call when you’re clear. I’ll talk to you later, Keegs.”
“Oh, KI-!” He begged as Terri cut him off by hanging up.
2015, July 14th: Keegan gave Kick swift nuzzles, extracting himself from bed as he rubbed his back as he called Terri back. He could barely remember what she said, only that she’d talk to him later right at the start of his heat. Hell, he hated going wild like that, and the sheer desperation that came with it was not fun. AT ALL. “Keegs? Are you feeling better?”
“Yeah, sorry you heard all that. What’s up?”
“Caracas was flooded.” His eyes went wide.
“What?”
“Almagro? He’s dead, but…so’s almost everyone that was in Caracas.” No. NO. He touched his pack bond. He’d have felt it, wouldn’t he have? Them dying? “Keegs? Are…you okay?”
“H…how long ago?” He said weakly, mind flying a mile a minute.
“The day I called you: the 8th.”
“And it’s the?”
“14th.” He shook Kick, but he made no move to shift.
“Give me a second.” He put her on mute, kicking the man in the arm. “Get up! We got to get to Caracas: they’re in danger!” He took her off of mute as Kick instantly got into motion. “Is Kate okay?”
“Yeah, I think she’s doing damage control with other nations? I don’t know details, but she’s doing something important in DC.”
“Okay.” They were now on the plane, heading to Caracas as Kick looked frightened. Keegan could feel the peppermint taking over: based on Kick’s glances towards him, he could too. “Are you?”
“I’m fine. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t…”
“I was fine: holed up in a safe house with my pack.” Keegan lied easily as they rushed to where his pack actually was. “Thanks for looking out for me. Why don’t you convince Kate to work from home for a few days? Give yourself some company.”
“…Okay, thanks, Keegs. Be safe, okay?”
“That’s a copy, girlie.” She hung up, and Keegs said softly, looking forward,
“Let’s find our boys safe and sound.” They never did find Rorke, but everyone else was mostly okay. Evidently, the mere act of physically pack bonding was not enough to help determine safety or mental health: they had to be emotionally bonded, as well. Keegan and Marrick started working towards that, so this didn’t happen again.
2015, December 18th: “That’s what I remember, sir. I’m ready to rejoin.” Simon was ready to never have heat again: he’d been put back on heat blockers to let his body heal. No one knew he was an omega even now: he’d been careful about how to hide it. The captain raised an eyebrow.
“Your body’s fine. It’s the head they’re worried for. Tortured for months, memory spotty, and the violent nightmares-”
“My memory was like that before, sir, and the nightmares have stopped. They stopped 3 months ago.” It was a lie. Not the memory: the nightmares. The nightmares were every night, but he was VERY good at lying.
“You don’t have to convince me; I’d have had you back with your unit 2 months ago. You’ll see the shrink on Tuesday, she signs off, I’ll have you on a transport straight away. Go home, Simon. Enjoy Christmas.” Christmas. Right.
2015, December 22nd: Simon held his mom as he said softly, face stinging from where he’d rubbed the toothpaste all over it, “Father would paint his face?”
“Yes, baby. Are you alright?” He didn’t want to be anything like his father. He hated mirrors because he looked like his father.
“No. But I’ll make myself be.” She gently brushed his hair, the gentle touch comforting enough he could close his eyes and sleep. He was safe. Mom was safe. Tommy was safe. Later that day, the shrink sighed after their appointment.
“Against my better judgement, I’ll approve you for active duty. But please. Keep seeking counselling. You have deep rooted trauma. You should really stay in counseling to help process that.” Simon half-joked,
“I’ll keep that under advisem*nt, ma’am.” He wasn’t sure if he’d ever go into therapy again. Though…Dr. Halloway was safe. He wouldn’t mind continuing to see the gentle beta…
2015, December 24th: Simon laughed as he flew Joseph around the room with a wide grin. “Go easy on him, Joseph.”
“Ah, he’s alright. I’m proud of you, Tommy.”
“So when are you going to stop saving the world and relax?”
“Never, mate. I’ll keep fighting ‘til I die.” Simon smiled at Tommy laughed.
“Simon? There’s a yank at the door for you?” He stood up rapidly.
“Sparks?”
“Hey, English!” Tommy looked at him warily.
“He’s fine, Tommy: we’ve worked together.”
“Mind if we get some drinks? Hate to pull you away from family.” Simon hesitated. Sparks may be safe around Tommy, but he wasn’t SAFE-safe. Tommy insisted, so he went. He didn’t drink anything, but Sparks definitely did. They talked about reassignments: he was in RAF Bonington with Washington, getting shipped to Afghanistan. Then Sparks kept mentioning Roba, and Roba’s words. It was upsetting, but Simon let him talk. It wasn’t like anyone else would get it: they couldn’t talk to the therapists about Mexico, because there was no way they’d go back to active duty if they did…and then he kept talking about Roba, as if he were a friend. OH. Simon’s heart sank. Sparks wasn’t safe. He wasn’t safe at all. Simon was walking him home warily when he started attacking the omega they’d seen at the bar. He dialed the police as he asked, shocked and horrified,
“Are you going to rape her?”
“This is the last bit of knotbrains I’m going to get in who knows how long! Open the door, English!”
“Break it down?”
“The keys, dumbass!” Simon stalled as best he could, heart pounding in his ears as he begged the police to come quickly. He heard the sirens, and barked at Sparks to leave her, dragging him away. They stumbled towards Sparks’ hotel room with Washington, Simon fully planning on putting a bullet in the would-be rapist’s skull. And then Sparks was just confused as to why Simon didn’t want to go BACK. Back to that hell hole where he was in agony every day…
2015, December 25th: Washington came in, and Simon jumped out the window, glass getting embedded in his thigh. How familiar, but this time, he could move. He got the civilians down, and bolted towards his family, desperately dialing them. Tommy, Mum, Joseph. Tommy, mum, Joseph. No one was answering. The door was open. Dead. All of them were-Simon let out a wail of agony, stumbling towards Tommy’s gun. No, no, he couldn’t…he couldn’t just have FATHER left. That wail shifted into something that shook Simon to his core. He was laughing. Gut wrenching, doubled over, gasping as laughter filled his lungs, shook his arms. He put the gun in his mouth-NO. He threw it to the side. He promised Tommy he would keep fighting until he died. He called Major Hawkins. Dead. They were all dead. Dr. Halloway! He answered his phone.
“You royally screwed up, English.”
“I didn’t sell out my country.”
“No? let’s see if that’s what they say when they find the lady shrink’s body.”
“…You setting me up, Sparks?”
“You set yourself up, English.” He saw the missile launch from there. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he went into a bar to tie down his leg, to stop the blood enough to move. He…it was just Father left. He had to see him.
“If it ain’t my son, the butcher.” This was a mistake. And his dad explained the skull. Why he laughed. His f*cking sicko for a sperm donor made him laugh at a f*cking overdose. The memory was vivid now, painfully etched into his grey matter so far, he wouldn’t have been surprised that when someone blew his brains out, that image would be splattered on the wall. Why he hated punk-rock. Simon stood up, forcing his father’s smile off his own face, and walking away. He didn’t turn around even as his dad screamed at him: Sparks and Washington would kill him.
2015, December 31st: RAF Bonnington. Simon painted his face white even as his stomach screamed at him. His father’s eyes looked at him. His mind wanted to let go. “Not yet. I have to finish this.” He pulled on a baclava and infiltrated. He found Sparks and Washington. Washington he just killed. Sparks he took back home. Sparks he killed for giving his safe family to Roba. Sparks he gave his tags and set fire to in his former home. His former safe place. And now for Roba.

Chapter 25: 2016, March

Chapter Text

2016, February 2^nd: Simon beat the information out of his target. He was numb, his mind begging to just let go. Not until he was finished with this mission. Coahuila, Chiapas jungles. Invisible from air, impossible to reach on foot. For anyone alive. Simon wasn’t alive anymore. He was more instincts than training, more cold, more heartless. He found Roba.

“Hello, Mr. Death. From the moment they told me the grave was empty, I knew you’d come back. El Gordo has no fear of the inevitable. What do you want from me, little puppy?” He hated that name, of ownership and derision.

“Just blood.” He revealed the disc. He needed it to take down other cartels. He dully realized it would likely never reach someone who could use it, but he dismissed that. He was just after Roba. And Roba was dead. He smiled as his mind slipped away. He could let go now: his mission was done.

2016, March 5^th: MacMillian frowned. Simon Riley. Killed himself after a massacre. Or so people claimed. He’d worked with the type to do such. He wasn’t arrogant: Simon easily could have been the type to do so. But his gut said that was wrong, and he trusted his gut. Roba had gone down early February: he couldn’t find anyone who had sanctioned that attack. He called Holly. “Mac, what do you want? You’re retired.”

“I need a ride to America, Texas specifically.”

“I can get you a seat on a mission ride, but why?”

“Oh, I’ve got some things to look into, Holly. Don’t worry: I’ll keep it clean.” He needed to find the team that had been scrubbed: Simon Riley’s mystery that Phillip Graves-Shepard’s most recent person of interest-begged him to look into could wait.

2016, March 15^th: MacMillian crouched in the ash and dust of the ruins. Someone did a number, but it wasn’t a professional EOD or demolitions expert: too sloppy, too unmeasured. Someone had killed these men: about 5’9, prints imply he’s pretty dense: around 80 kg. Combat boots, fast and harsh movements. But erratic, very erratic. Wilder animal than human. “sh*te.” He was dealing with at least one feral. Someone had set up a sniping position: used one of the enemies’ guns. Good hit, but no evidence of a long stay: a quick survey of the compound most likely. Body imprint says 5’9’’, around 80 kg. Combat boots. Twins? He kept digging in the ruins. And kept finding tracks of 5’9’’, 80 kg, combat boots. “Oh, sh*te.” It was one person that did all this. He looked deeper into the ruins, and found a room filled with psychotic drugs and pleasant stimuli. He stood in the ruins, dialing a number with a frown. A woman answered the phone after a while. “Yeah?”

“Hello, is Alex Mason there? It’s Mac: we worked together once.”

“One sec.” Her voice was muffled for a bit, then the familiar voice said worriedly,

“Mac? What’s wrong?” He waved his hands as he spoke.

“Nothing, really, but what do you know about Roba?” Quiet for a bit, then,

“Roba? He was a cartel leader until last month, killed in his headquarters. Wasn’t involved myself with anything regarding him.” Okay, that meant it wasn’t super black ops. Mason was the expert here…

“And what about the connection between…” He read off the list of chemicals and drugs he’d found, frowning at the silence.

“Why?” It was stiff, emotionless, and told MacMillian this was far more dangerous than he had expected going in.

“I’m at Roba’s HQ right now, looking to find the team who killed him, only to find it was one man. How dangerous is this?”

“…Mac. If that guy is still alive, put a bullet in his skull.” OH. “Those drugs are connected to brainwashing attempts and successes.” Oh, sh*tE. “Even if he…” Mason trailed off for a bit, muttering Russian briefly. “Best case scenario, he’s able to recover, he could get away before they broke him. Worst case, he’ll never be able to function again. He’ll never be okay, Mac.”

“How sure are you about that?” He said quietly.

“Very. I was…part of the test runs in Russia. Even with what happened, all my training, all the counseling and help I’ve had…”

“Aye, I hear you. But there’s another bit to this. He’s currently feral.”

“Oh.” MacMillian frowned at the bland response. “Well, uh…I don’t know, then.”

“You don’t know?” Mason explained with verbal confusion,

“As far as I know, the brainwashing prevents the ferality reversion: someone who is brainwashed cannot revert into a feral. So, uh…I don’t know.” MacMillian sighed: what a great use of data that-

“Mac, was it? Karma here: Mason’s getting overwhelmed. If this person’s feral, that means he mentally blocked whatever the hell you two are talking about. He’s in serious danger, but belay Mason’s suggestion of putting a bullet in him.” MacMillian sighed in relief. He didn’t have to kill someone who should be recognized as a national hero.

“Aye, got it. Sorry for the call: I’m not asking you to get involved, but I’ll keep you posted about the situation.”

“Appreciate that: Mason never wants someone else to go through the same thing he did.”

“Most of us old men don’t.” He hung up, and took a deep breath. Okay: he had to track down a feral in an unfamiliar jungle when that feral had been here at least a month. Walk in the park.

2016, March 17^th: MacMillian grumbled in annoyance. This feral was a pain in his arse. He was backtracking, climbing into the trees, scenting in opposite directions. Only MacMillian’s time in the rangers kept him on this guy’s trail. “Jumping Jesus, where the hell is this bastard?” How did he even…how aware was he? The movements were too erratic to be a non-feral, but the actions were too methodic to be what he’d heard about ferals. Not that he’d ever met a feral: most soldiers took their own lives before they got that broken. The ones that didn’t…he didn’t like to remember the stories of the officer range. The whole place was considered to be a worse place than hell. Not that there was another option: officer ferals had the imbedded instincts of war vets. Every touch an attack, every sound a target. They had to be contained and separated from the others, and people were already terrified of normal people turned ferals…he shook his head, refocusing. That scent didn’t belong here. Lilac wasn’t a native plant to the Americas: it definitely wouldn’t be in a jungle-He was gripping a neck as silent jaws tried to clamp down. “Steaming f*ck!” Brown eyes, 5’9’’, 80 kilograms. And DEAD SILENT. MacMillian shoved him off, but he was way too fast and way too strong: he couldn’t get him off long enough to get on equal footing. He rolled on top of him: the feral kicked his stomach and rolled him back under as he groaned out, “Friendly, I’m friendly!” He either didn’t hear, understand, or care. MacMillian dug his claws into the man’s shoulders, straightening his arm. Even in the air, he kept going for MacMillian’s throat. “BLUE, BLUE!” MacMillian was too old. He wasn’t strong enough anymore to keep the huge man away, or at least shove him off. He wasn’t fast enough to escape even if he was. So he went limp, saying in a forced calm as his heart pounded, “Blue friendly, unarmed.” The feral stopped right before he hit his throat. His heart kept pounding, but MacMillian didn’t move, laying limp as he took in more features. He could see the man’s face as it hovered over his, brown eyes staring into his soul. “Holy sh*te. Simon Riley?” The man backed off slightly, staring down MacMillian, daring him to make any movement. “Aye, Simon Riley. The f*ck happened to you?” He looked horrible. Eyes bloodshot, crouching there in a position able to move in an instant. Covered in blood. He had a half-tear in his pants leg: looks like a wound was severely infected, and that was from a cursory glance. MacMillian kept still: he had to keep this man calm, because he wasn’t physically capable of restraining him by force. What was he told to do during hostage situations? Sure, he’d never been a hostage without backup before, but it should function as the same principle. He internally took a deep breath. “Simon, can you understand me?” His head tilted, but his eyes were still glazed over. “Can you nod if you understand?” He didn’t move, still as a statue.

He could hear his voice, mind filled with fuzzy itchiness. Understand…understand-oh! He nodded slowly; eyes locked on the target. He didn’t recognize him. This man wasn’t safe. No one was safe. “Are you alone?” He didn’t hesitate. He nodded. “Can you speak?” He tilted his head. Speak? Why would he? He LIKED being alone. He didn’t have to think when he was alone. He just had to survive. Defend. If he didn’t speak, if he was alone, no one got hurt. No one got killed. “Okay. My name is Macoy MacMillian. I’m a retired sniper of SAS, former Major General.” The name sounded familiar. But SAS wasn’t safe. He bared his teeth. “I’m not here to hurt you. I came to pick up the scrubbed team that took out Roba-” He slammed MacMillian into the ground, snarling. MacMillian’s heart was pounding, but he stopped moving, stopped talking. He slowly backed off, MacMillian continuing softly, “And it seems it was just you, Simon.” He nodded. “Good work. That bastard had it coming.” Good? He perked up. He was good? “But you’re really hurt.” But? So he wasn’t good? He frowned, tilting his head again. “Your leg: it got hurt. I’m not a medic. I need to take you to a hospital.” Hospital? NO. He didn’t want to see father again. He whined softly. “No hospital, then?” He nodded firmly. “Okay, alternatives…I could bring a medic to you.” Medic. Someone who stopped the hurt. He touched his leg: it had been burning for weeks now. He nodded. “Aye, we can do that. I can’t get a medic here. You’d have to come with me.” He slowly processed what that meant. He’d have to leave the jungle. That was fine. SAS. NO.

“No SAS.” MacMillian nodded at his barked demand.

“No SAS: my cabin. Only 2 blokes know where it is.” Secure. MacMillian was old: He could kill him if necessary. He gave a nod. “There’s a good lad.” Good? He perked up again. “Can I get up?” He nodded, watching him intensely.

MacMillian watched this man out of the corner of his eyes, knowing direct eye contact would be taken as a threat. Medics…he could find a doctor willing to come by and keep it quiet. Then Simon offered a disk and blood. “What’s…you got cartel details?” Simon nodded, not making eye contact. “Good lad, you are.” There it was again: that eagerness to please. But Simon was an alpha-no, he wasn’t. His nail was rounded. It was the only reliable sign of an omega: a rounded thumb nail. Even if they purposely sharpened it, they would subconsciously gnaw it round while asleep. Shrinks thought it was to keep from hurting someone while grabbing their scruffs. MacMillian’s theory was they did it to determine who they could trust: people with sharp thumb nails always hurt anyone they grabbed by the throat or scruff unless they were very, very careful, after all. MacMillian pocketed it. “I’ll get your name cleared, mate. Let’s get you safe, eh?” Simon said softly,

“I’m never safe.” Ooh, boy, MacMillian and him had some things to work through before he was ready for any interactions…

Chapter 26: 2016, July

Chapter Text

2016, March 24th: MacMillian had no idea how he managed to get Simon back to his cabin. He was currently in the room keeping the anxious man calm while the doctor examined him. He hadn’t even managed to get him to take a bath yet: Simon refused to do anything exposing until…something told him something. “You did good.” Simon nodded, stiff and awkward. He didn’t talk much. From what MacMillian had heard, he never had. “MacMillian, could we speak outside?”
“Yeah, you solid, Simon?” He nodded again, sitting on the edge of the bunk bed like a statue. He couldn’t even tell if Simon was breathing…He joined the doctor outside, and she sighed heavily. “That bad?”
“No, he’s…in scary good health except for that leg infection. I can prescribe him some antibiotics, and it should clear up quick. The issue is his mental health. He isn’t a recent feral.”
“Doc, I know nothing about ferals. Say it straight.”
“Simon has been on and off feral for the last 2 years, at least. That’s why he has higher mental functionality than most: he’s adjusted to maintain his relative stability through it.”
“That’s a thing?” MacMillian muttered. The doctor nodded.
“It’s rare, but it happens. It’s usually evidence of heavy abuse during childhood; severe, prolonged trauma; or PTSD.” MacMillian was fairly certain Simon had all three of those… “I…I’m sorry, but it’s not safe for you to be with him alone. He will attack: it’s only a matter of when and what does it. He needs to go to the military feral ra-”
“NO. I’ve heard what happens there: he just needs time. And if he does attack, I know how to handle it.” The doctor sighed heavily, rubbing her head.
“Okay, I understand that. I know he’s getting good care now, so I can’t force anything. Then here’s the basics. He’s still in survival mode, so you need to let him naturally get to a point he realizes he is safe. Once he knows that, and if he decides to come back from ferality, you’ll have to deal with a lot of trauma responses. Even when someone comes down from the elevated feral state, they have the same trauma.” MacMillian frowned.
“DECIDES?” The doctor nodded.
“Ferality isn’t a choice, but sometimes, particularly in cases like this, the person decides the limited mental capacity is…better. So they don’t have to process everything. So they don’t even fight the ferality: they just give in.”
He frowned. Give in? Was he…being weak? But he told Tommy-he whined, heart breaking all over again at the reminder. He pushed through it, trying to complete the thought. Tommy. What did he tell Tommy? He told Tommy he would keep fighting until he died. He wasn’t dead yet. He thought. Simon Riley was dead: that he was sure of. But HE wasn’t. He stared out of the window. Calm. It was calm here. He…didn’t have to fight here, did he? His thoughts were sinking into the murkiness-he clawed them back, shaking his head rapidly. Yes, he did. He just wasn’t fighting soldiers or terrorists or monsters. He was fighting the fog in his mind. Dr. Halloway said that was the most dangerous enemy of all.
2016, March 30th: MacMillian came back with groceries to find Simon laying on the ground limp. He immediately checked his pulse: steady as a baseline. So why was he- Simon’s eyes locked with his, and the man slowly sat up. “Fell asleep. Sorry.” OH. He had just…passed out on the ground.
“Simon, have you not been sleeping?” He was trying to get the man to engage more with conversation. It was a slow process, but Simon had been surprisingly cooperative since the visit. MacMillian was pretty sure he’d overheard the doc’s comment about giving up, and that alone had sparked a rebellion in his spirit against the mental strain.

“Can’t.” He mumbled, eyes scanning the room for danger as always. He never stopped looking for a danger. “Nightmares.”

“Hmm. You up for a shower? Or a bath yet?” Simon’s eyes went vacant. Ah, he’d lost that fight. MacMillian made a quick dinner. He was no cook, but he could at least keep them both fed.

“…Scared.” MacMillian paused slightly as he set the plate in front of Simon.

“Scared?” He nodded vaguely.

“Can’t keep the fog from…taking. Might drown.” Drown in the fog? Oh, drown in the water from bathing.

“…You want me to help?” Simon’s eyes went sharper than a needle, locked on MacMillian. “Bathing, nothing else. I’m too old to be doing any nonsense.” Simon considered this, then nodded, standing up instantly. “Now, okay.” MacMillian let Simon choose how hot he wanted it. And the water was scalding, as hot as it could possibly get. “Need you to take your clothes off.” Simon hesitated, eyes going vacant again. MacMillian waited. Then he started complying, eyes wide in fear even as his body was rock steady. Oh, f*ck. MacMillian’s eyes raked over every scar, half-healed wound, the infected leg that was red, swollen and leaking from the pressure underneath the stretched to its limit scab; and a rip through his side that looked as if it had just missed his kidney that went straight through his body. Burn marks, scuffs all over his knuckles as if he had punched and clawed his way out of steel. His eyes went vacant as he held his shirt over his bare front.

“Steaming Jesus, I don’t want to know. Sit down, aye?” Simon didn’t move for a bit, then complied. And MacMillian saw the half-healed cuts on his privates. Oh, Simon. He said nothing about it, just washing Simon’s back, chest, and hair out. sh*te, he was blond?! MacMillian finished his tasks, and said softly, “I’m not comfortable washing you down there, mate. I need you to do that.” Simon hesitated, but slowly did so, wincing at every touch as MacMillian’s heart shattered. The doctor was right: he was not qualified for this at all. Simon had more pain in his spirit than MacMillian had seen in most of his career. He could only get the boy moving, functional. That’s the best he could do. He continued softly once Simon was done,

“If you ever want to talk, my doors open. I won’t understand, but I can listen.” Simon nodded vaguely: he didn’t really hear. MacMillian didn’t repeat himself, not sure he could get it out a second time and not cry. When he turned off the water, Simon made no move to stand. He’d won that battle: he’d actually gotten a shower in, so MacMillian could forgive not managing to walk to bed. He got a shirt on him at least, and carried him to bed, laying him down and then going to bed himself.

2016, April 27^th: MacMillian got back to hear water running in the bathroom. He called lightly, “Blue. You solid, Simon?” He heard shuffling, then the door opened. Simon had…taken a shower! On his own! MacMillian smiled, choosing not to make a big deal about it. Simon looked self-conscious about it taking so long, anyways. Even so, that deserved some kind of reward: it was a big step. “Want something special for dinner?” Simon asked gingerly, staring MacMillian down,

“Could I…cook?”

“Aye, you can.” Simon was a damn good cook. MacMillian moaned as he took a bite. “Holy sh*te, Simon.”

“Ghost.” MacMillian paused, looking at him. “Simon’s dead. I’m a ghost.” He blinked a few times, processing the statement.

“Is Simon really dead, or are you too scared to face him?”

“…Yes.” MacMillian nodded. At least he was an honest lad for the most part.

“We all have bad days, mess up, make mistakes. So I’m going to keep calling you Simon until you can talk to him and make sure he’s dead. Not a good idea to bury people alive.” Simon went taunt: MacMillian nodded. So not a good idea to mention being buried alive: definite trigger- He SCOFFED.

“They tend to dig their way out and make a good day into a nightmare.” MacMillian chuckled.

“Aye, they do.”

2016, May 19^th: MacMillian was whistling as he came inside. Simon Riley was found innocent with his research and Simon’s recovered disk and blood to access it, and a ton of cartels had just gone down because of the same. Simon looked up from the floor, a mirror in front of him as he haphazardly tried to wrap his skull. “Hell happened?”

“…Tried to bar your window.” MacMillian sighed, sitting behind him, and saying flatly,

“Don’t try to wrap your own skull, lad. Concussed?”

“No. I’ve had enough to know.” Simon muttered. “How’d it go?”

“Simon is considered innocent, and we have evidence to shut down about 4 other cartels and cripple dozens of others.”

“Good. He wanted that.”

“You talked to him?” Ghost shrugged noncommittedly.

“I didn’t…say much. He’s ready to go now.”

“Alright. And you’re Ghost.” He nodded again. “Welcome to England, mate.”

2016, June 14^th: Eun-ji hoped they couldn’t see his cuts through the gloves. He hoped his accent wasn’t too obvious. He hoped his SCENT wasn’t obvious to be an omega. Granted, being discovered here was nothing compared to what the mafia would do, but he also really, REALLY didn’t want to die, or worse, get married off to some f*cking alpha. He winced as his fingers twitched: those sh*tty sewing lessons had left small needle scars all over his hands. But he had somehow survived, without a mate, and now? He had another chance. He’d take a new hand, even if his lose streak was killer, and he’d never become someone else’s toy. He popped the pill to block his scent, glad that if it did leak, it would smell more alpha-like than omega with it being leather and wax, and got in line, eyes hardened. He’d be his own alpha, thanks. “What’s your name, soldier?!”

“Kim Hong-jin, sir!”

2016, July 30^th: MacMillian said softly, “Ghost?” He looked over, brown eyes burning into him. “I don’t think I can help you anymore.” Ghost turned away.

“Yeah?” It sounded dismissive, but MacMillian had spent enough time with him to know he was listening.

“Want to, but I can’t. You’re moving around, you’re not fogging for hours anymore. You’re, uh, back up to working order.”

“Better than.” He said simply.

“Only thing left is your heat, but that is your business, not mine. You thought about what to do after?”

“…Fight. Rejoining the army, if they’ll have me. maybe get SAS. But…the file.” MacMillian knew the issue. Roba had gotten his file somehow. It had everything: address, history, mission reports.

“…I’ve got a friend who can help with that. He’s even solider than me.” Ghost hesitated, but nodded. He’d give it a shot.

Chapter 27: 2016

Chapter Text

2016, August 2^nd: Price stared at the kid MacMillian presented him with. “You want me to…what?” The kid glared at him from his immaculate uniform. Well, kid wasn’t the right term. He was average size for a beta, strong, at least 20 based on how MacMillian was treating him. But his eyes were more like a wounded animal than anything else, like someone was going to bite down on his jugular and watch him bleed out. His scent was nonexistent: likely more blockers. His commander rubbed his head, sighing heavily. “Mac, that’s illegal.”

“Ghost’s had some…issues recently.” GHOST?! “Nothing important to the military, but it’s in his files. He wants it scrubbed.”

“When did we start taking demands from recruits?” MacMillian shook his head as the kid continued to glare daggers into him.

“It’s not a demand. It’s a request. You can refuse. This is all off the books, anyways.” Price couldn’t believe he was going to agree to this, rubbing his head as he lit a cigar, his own emotions spiking. He didn’t miss how Simon straightened, glaring at him even harder as the scent of moss and cocoa grew.

“What kind of scrub?” MacMillian smiled: he knew he had Price now, the co*cky Scottish bastard.

“As clean as you can get it. Photos, blood type, family, age, identity, everything.”

“…Let me talk to him. Alone, sir.” The guy nodded, walking out. The kid watched him leave, then turned back, glaring. “This a request from you, or him?” He swallowed thickly, eyes glaring. Oh, he wasn’t on scent blockers: he was on hormone blockers. He was fighting going FERAL. That made this a whole different situation, and a far more dangerous one.

“Me, sir.”

“Why?” He was as still as a statue, standing at attention. Price sighed, waving off the tenseness by force. “Relax, take a seat. I’m not going to bite your head off; I just want to understand why you want this. Firstly, what’s your actual name?” He took a seat, eyes still narrowed and glaring as he evaluated Price. Price didn’t make himself seem smaller: the kid needed to confront him as he was, and Price wasn’t going to make the process easier only for this kid to fail later on in a worse way.

“Simon Riley.” Oh, sh*t. “…Don’t want people to find it just sitting around. Anyone could read it.” Manchester, the man MacMillian had literally just saved from losing everything. He was assumed dead until 4 months ago, after the death of his entire family and anyone else he had gotten close to. Price hadn’t kept up with the details, just the outline, but it was everywhere in Britian. People would forget about his story in at most 4 months longer.

“There a specific reason besides paranoia?” Simon kept staring, though his eyes had gone vacant, blond hair splayed everywhere as his breath evened. Price got the first whiff of him: acid and lilac. The acid was from fear or anger: he wasn’t sure which. What a sweet smell for a menacing guy, not that Price had room to talk with his own being damn cocoa and moss. The light returned in his eyes suddenly, the answer just as fast.

“POW, sir.” Price’s eyes softened. “They had my file because my commander gave it to them. They used it to torture me. I never gave in, and they buried me alive.” Holy f*ck, that was something. His eyes were narrowing, fists clenched: a grounding technique. “Dug myself out. I don’t want that to happen again.” Price stood up, making his way to the other side of his desk, and sitting on it while facing Simon. Simon watched every move he made like a predator.

“Mind if I touch you?” He hesitated, but nodded. Price set a heavy hand on his shoulder, Simon stiffening. “You’re a brave lad, and damn strong. Don’t ever let some prat tell you otherwise, got it?” Simon nodded. “Alright. We’ll burn it. SAS deceased files don’t get digitized, and you just got notified as alive. How long ago?”

“6 months.” Price nodded. He was still fighting being feral after 6 months? He was way more than traumatized.

“Let’s get you some closure, eh, Simon?”

“Ghost. Simon’s dead.” Alright, then.

“Let’s make you a ghost, then.” Ghost nodded, and pulled on a mask. With a skull, Price noted with a silent chuckle. He wondered when, or even if, he’d ever see Simon again. He led the kid to the file room, where they found it fast enough. Price pulled out a new record: blank. “What do you want to be in here?” Ghost considered this.

“…Name, birth and code.” He wrote it carefully. “I’m an omega, for leave reasons.” Price nodded, complying even as he was puzzled. Simon Riley had joined as an alpha, not an omega. Strange. “My skill set. That’s it.”

“…Got it. Here’s your old file-I won’t look, but do you want to?” He shook his head instantly, and Price lit it on fire. “…you should stop using those blockers.” Simon glanced at him oddly. “Blockers also mess with hormones. It’d be better for you mentally to not use them.” Simon considered this, and growled out so lowly it made Price jump,

“I’m done hiding.” Price nodded at the growl, then touched his shoulder again gently, Ghost stiffening.

“You need anything, call me. I’ve got a bonded mate who can explain anything I don’t get, and we’ll do everything we can to help you, Si-Ghost.” Price watched the omega look him over warily. In distrust.

“…Alright. Thanks.”

2016, November 12^th: Iris chuckled as Johnny bounced in place. He glanced over at his cousin. “What?”

“Nothing, just haven’t seen you this excited in a while.” He hadn’t been this excited in a while. He had pushed back when he would enlist, just to finish demolition training, but it was finally time! He hopped out of the truck, racing to the door of the recruitment office. Iris walked more slowly. The officer was the same one who had caught him, and he scowled angrily.

“I told you not to come back here, runt!” Johnny wilted slightly-Iris called,

“Hey, don’t worry. He’s old enough now: I’m going to sign his slip.” The officer looked over Iris warily, then nodded.

“If he’s old enough, he can sign up. How old is he?”

“16. Go and show him what you can do, Johnny.” He aced it all. The recruitment officer nodded in approval.

“Alright, we’ll be in contact. Make sure to pack up your things, because you’ll be headed to bootcamp fast enough.”

2016, December 8^th: Konig paused the woman. “Are you okay?”

“J-ja, they ran out of coats in supply, and I got in late-” He took off his jacket and set it on her shoulders. “Colonel?”

“Keep it until a new shipment, Fink.” He said firmly, steadying his gun and moving in. Many of them panicked when they saw a tank of an apex barreling towards them and either haphazardly shot at him or ran. The second was almost always the most likely. This would take an estimated 5 hours: him and a small group of 9 other people refuting the invading force that was trying to circle around to the capital. He’d been offered a desk job 2 years ago out of requirement. He had refused: even at 52, he was more physically capable than most of the others, including the other 4 apexes in the Austrian army. He’d never met them: no one wanted 2 apexes in the same room together. Evidently, it had never ended well historically: each meeting resulted in at least one of them having life-threatening injuries. Not that he was eager to meet another apex: he had other issues to deal with. Mainly Russia trying to invade. “Colonel, they are retreating!” The new boy: he’d just joined the force with Fink. He tapped comms, setting a position on a demolished wall facing the army.

“Continue firing.”

“But-” He said flatly, firing and dropping one,

“Kill who you can, then establish a fox hole.”

“But Herr Kilgore-”

“That is an order, Graf. Aigner, establish camp 40 meters behind my location.” There was no retreat signal: they were going back for reinforcements and supplies, not for safety. “Find a foxhole and dig in your heels. Binder, find a position in the trees. This will get very bloody. Colonel Kilgore calling in for reinforcements: enemy is resupplying and regrouping.”

“Copy, Colonel. Another 10-man squad is coming in to assist with more supplies inbound. And there’s a…situation that is developing. Once this attack is resolved, General Schimdt is requesting you to meet with him.”

“Copy.” Konig stated flatly. He called softly, “Enemy spotted. Estimate 200. Do not fire until the first wave has passed my position. Do not shoot me: I will not be happy. Keep low.” He smirked behind his mask. So Russia wanted to play games, did they? Konig liked games, especially war games on familiar territory. “Steady…Let’s play.” He fired.

2016, December 9^th: Konig caught the magazine the girl he gave his jacket to chucked him, clicking it into his gun fluidly. “50 left: they are withdrawing due to darkness. Medic Aigner, you’re in charge. Bauer, Ebner, with me.”

“Us, Herr?” Bauer asked, puzzled. He nodded.

“You haven’t let me down yet. Keep doing it. Our mission is simple." His eyes hardened as he scanned the area, tightening Ebner’s pack as she tightened in worry. “We are going into their camp and killing them.”

“Herr, surely there’s another-” He glared at the new boy. He had some big balls, arguing with a commanding officer. Konig didn’t have the patience to deal with that in this situation.

“I am your colonel. You want to question me, do so OFF the field. Am I clear?” He quailed, nodding sheepishly. “We will be addressing you later. Bauer, circle the camp and kill any runners. Ebner, secure the weapon supply inside. Understood?”

“Yes, Colonel.” He trudged off, eyes raking over Bauer.

“Colonel?” Bauer hadn’t slept in a few days: he’d likely fall asleep after the enemies were taken care of.

“Ja?” He stated, turning to look over Ebner.

“Is my uniform messed up?”

“Nien. I am observing.” Ebner was in good health: seemed like her nervous tick on her eye was back. Likely because of that new boy. He pushed it from his mind. “Stop. Enemies ahead. Ebner.” She disappeared, her small size being perfect for infiltrating the still settling camp. “Bauer, vest check.” He tightened it, shaking his head. “Few more minutes. I’ll protect after.”

“Danke, Colonel. I am sorry: sleep is…troublesome.” He nodded vaguely. He understood that. Before he had become Lieutenant, adjusted to the life of military personnel, sleep was impossible in the barracks. So many people, all close together: it was almost everything he hated. Bauer’s issue was insomnia based, but the results were similar enough. He spotted the light to the tent flash suddenly. “Ebner’s in position. Let’s play.”

2016, December 10^th: Konig wiped off his knife onto the last corpse, taking the documents he could find. “Clear here.”

“Clear. No escapees that I saw.”

“Good work. Colonel Kilgore reporting. Attack was refuted. No one escaped.”

“Excellent job, Konig. Colonel Hofer is on the way with his squad to relieve you: ETA 12 hours.”

“Copy, Danke. We’re out of here.” He lifted Bauer into his arms.

“Danke, colonel.” Konig just nodded in response, Bauer quickly fell asleep in his steady walk to camp as he tapped comms.

“Aigner, we’re done here. Pack up in 10 hours.”

“Why not now?” Konig’s eye twitched under his mask, burning cedar scent spiking. Graf’s 3^rd strike.

“Aigner? Get me Graf’s file.”

“Copy, Herr. Graf, get back to your post.”

“Ja, Ja.” Konig set Bauer down, checking over Aigner.

“One injury: bullet went straight through. I’m putting them on leave until it heals. Where did you get that bruise?” He nodded absently. He then jerked, realizing what she said.

“Eh? I have a bruise?” She gestured to his arm, where he had stopped his falling by ramming his elbow into a tree to brace himself on the first day of the fight. “Oh, Ja. It’s nothing. Bitte Sie.”

“No worries, Colonel. Just wanted to be sure. His file.”

“Danke.” Graf was good: alpha with multiple number one spots in basic. No record of authority issues. Any family members-ah. He was the son of a school mate, one of his most vicious bullies. That explained why the issue was with him alone. He closed the file, taking a deep breath, closing his eyes for a bit. He was tired, worn down. As much as he disliked the concept, maybe he should consider taking a desk job. The years of active warfare, wet operations, and acting as a battering ram for the army had not been kind, but the concept of sitting behind a desk instead of protecting people was more than he could bare…Colonel Hofer arrived soon enough. Konig was not blind despite his age: he saw how anyone not under his direct command tensed and straightened around him. He saw his nose crinkle in disgust at his scent. “Colonel Hofer. Danke for stepping in. The army was refuted: the remains of their camp is over the mountain. There will be more forces.”

“Danke, H-Konig. Your input has always been invaluable.” That was a strange turn of phrase. He began issuing orders while Konig got everyone in his own command onto the trucks for exfil. He was next to the same truck as Graf, Bauer, Fink, and Ebner were inside. He could hear them angrily discussing in Hungarian, finishing his debrief with Hofer about locations and supply routes.

“You were openly disrespectful, Graf. He is not happy.”

“He would have done something by now if he was planning on it. He only got the position because he’s a preddy.”

“If you refer to him as that again, I will cut your tongue out.” Ebner hissed. Konig was used to it. He finished his debrief, and hopped on the truck, Graf continuing quietly in Hungarian,

“I’m not scared of him. Everyone knows he’s a complete pushover. My dad went to the school he did: he’s pathetic.” Konig sat down on the opposite side of Graf, opening his file again. He’d heard what he needed to. “You’ll see.” He switched to German as the trucks headed out. “Colonel. What are you doing?”

“Reading.” He said flatly. Ebner tried to stop him physically, but Graf stood up.

“Reading what?”

“Your file.” Graf seemed to gain confidence. He shouldn’t be.

“I know, I’m very proud of my medals. What are you looking for?” Konig slammed it closed, towering over Graf in an instant.

“Where you find the f*cking BALLS to argue with a superior’s orders, Sargeant.” He shrank, eyes wide.

“I-” Ebner muttered,

“Using rank? He’s pissed.”

“You questioned orders in a warzone. We were actively getting shot at and you questioned orders 3 times. That is insubordination, Sargeant.” He spoke Hungarian fluently and harshly, “You insult me? Do you think I don’t speak my motherland’s tongues? Your nerves are steel.” He looked down. “LOOK AT ME.” He jerked at the harsh German; eyes wide as he stared into Konig’s. “You NEVER argue orders from a superior in a warzone. NEVER. Understand?” He nodded jerkily, breathing uneven. The guilt was eating at Konig, but sometimes, you had to scare them to make them listen. “Good. This will have consequences. You will be benched and put on cleaning duty until the investigation is over.” Konig sat down heavily, taking off his hood. “Fink, the next supply run is in 3 weeks: you can get a proper fitting coat then. Bauer, go to the med bay and get some sleeping pills for tonight. Ebner, danke for defending me.” She nodded, hiding her hands. He knew they were shaking. He hated it, how terrified people were of him existing, but it got worse when it was someone he knew closely.

2016, December 11^th: Konig watched everyone disembark, Fink calling a thank you for his coat as she hurried off. He then headed to General Schimdt. “Hallo, General. You wanted to see me?”

“Yes, Kilgore. I’m afraid there is some bad news. Some of the enemy forces were spotted close by Krumpeltin.”

“Eh.” He said numbly, shocked. “Kr-Krumpeltin? How long ago? Has anyone contacted them?” His hometown? His scent spiked as he started to panic, the general tensing.

“I need you to stay calm, Kilgore.”

“Sir, I am as calm as I can be. What is happening there?”

“Our last contact was 5 hours ago. There’s been nothing since.”

“I need to go. I-”

“I can’t sanction that.” Konig froze.

“EH?”

“Krumpeltin is a small town. We have bigger worries than your home. I know you understand that: you’ve made similar calls in your career.” Konig grit his teeth.

“I need to go. My mama is there.”

“I can’t let that happen. You know what is at stake here if the Russians gain-”

“I NEED to go. My mama is there.”

“So you’ll just let them take over Austria? The report says at least 100 men in the force spotted. You can’t kill that-”

“SIR.” Konig set his hand on the table firmly, but not loudly. “You are not hearing me. I NEED TO GO. There is no request. Only a question. Do I retire effective now, or do I resign effective now?” The general sighed.

“I figured. You’re retiring. I’ve already finished the paperwork: you just need to sign. What do you need-”

“My gun. My home is in enemy hands. I will save it.” Konig signed the document, turning to leave.

“Konig.” He glanced back, already planning on his route. “You’re a damn good soldier. Don’t fall down the rabbit hole, my friend.” Konig gave a curt nod, and outside of the room, he took a deep breath, steadying himself. He had to save his mom.

2016, December 17^th: Konig frowned as he took in the established areas. This wasn’t typical Russian formatting. More American. Perhaps they were playing a different game than typical. 96 targets. He silently slid his rifle into position, eyes dark. One shot. Dead. Second shot. Dead. Third, fourth, fifth. Targets dead. He reloaded as he disappeared farther up the familiar hill. Like rabbits. They ran fast, trying to find the man who had killed 5 of them as he pulled out his knife. Into the stomach as he covered the man’s mouth, feeling his breath stop as he hid the body. 2 had gotten caught in his traps: a knife to their throats silenced them as 7 more came close. He dislodged the log he had set up, crushing their bodies. He silenced their pain with a knife through their neck as 15 more came. He hid in the snow cave he had structured, the cold keeping his boiling blood from making him burn. He had gone hunting with his father in these woods. He continued to go hunting with his mama in these woods. He knew them well. This was no different than hunting wolves for population control. 15 bullets left. They would regret this. They would regret touching his home. The 15 came close to him, but didn’t see his snow pocket. One of them even stepped on his back: he said nothing, and they didn’t notice through the snow. As night fell, they headed back, talking in English about finding him in the morning. They weren’t Russian: who were these people? The answer was plain and simple. Terrorists. He hated terrorists. He hated them more than anything else, because they purposely caused such intense fear. They caused pain and death and suffering for nothing but to spread hate and fear. But their spotter betas were dead now. As night fell, he got closer to the village, cracking into his neighbor’s house and borrowing his hunting rifle and more ammo. 12 more bullets. 27 total. He’d have to be more careful with the hunting rifle: it wasn’t nearly as quiet. If he could get to a car filter, he could make a muffler, but that would be too risky and damage his neighbor’s property. He didn’t want to cause more issues than needed here.

2016, December 18^th: Konig broke into one of the farther out houses that the terrorists were occupying, slitting half of their throats and putting 2 bullets into the ones who got up faster than he was expecting. 4 targets down. He jumped into the basem*nt, whispering to his terrified and bound neighbors, “Get to the woods: there is a truck there. Where is mama?”

“W-we don’t know, they just appeared out of nowhere about week ago. Are you…the only one?”

“Let’s be honest.” He smiled under his hood. “It’s better off in my hands. I know this town well. Go, stay quiet. I will cover you: do not stop.” 13 sniper bullets, 12 hunting bullets. He shot three terrorists with the hunting rifle, climbing into the attic and opening the window before hiding in the darkened shadows of the other side as the enemies came up. 6 more dead. He spat out the blood from his mouth. He hated using his teeth, but when his hands were busy crushing throats and his 3 knives were in gurgling throats. He then jumped out the window and went to the next building, scurrying up the chimney he had helped move the bricks to repair a few years ago to the roof and lying flat as he held his rifle underneath his uniform and the white blanket he had stolen. He waited for them to start getting frantic, making a circle in the center of the town to start a manhunt for who had killed so many of them. How kind of them. He raised the hunting rifle, and fired two times using the spray birdshot his neighbor used during bird season. 4 of them died instantly, the other 6 collapsing and screaming murder in pain. He went melee, slitting their throats before disappearing back into the forest as the other targets filled out, firing at him as they yelled about Big Foot. He rushed into the denser woods, sliding to a stop underneath a thicket, and shooting 2 more with the hunting rifle before continuing his escape into the mountains. 3 families, mama, and 63 enemies left. Wait for nightfall, and get the next 2 houses.

2016, December 19^th: There were 14 enemies with the 7 civilians in one of the homes. 5 children: he had visited home 2 years ago and they were much bigger now. He would frighten them: there was no escaping that fact. 12 in the next house guarding 6: 4 households in one building. He took a swig from the vodka bottle he stole from his neighbor, shoving twine and part of the cotton blanket coated in wax, taking a deep breath. Move fast: they all had guns and hostages. He lit the makeshift smoke bomb and chucked it into the window, firing 5 sniper bullets and throwing 2 knives, slaughtering 8 of them before one managed to call in a strangled, terrified scream,

“He’s-” A knife to his jugular silenced him, Konig ripping one of their heads off and chucking it into another’s as blood splattered. The man hit the ground, either concussed or unconscious. The others ran, Konig grabbing 2 guns with his knives and bolting to the next house and reloading. The last two of the hunting rifle slugs went into 2 skulls, him firing the 8 bullets from the enemies’ guns he stole into the enemies and snapping the neck of the two he missed closest to the door. He bolted out again after the 2 that escaped, grabbing them by the neck and slamming their skulls together with a sickening crunch. He barked to the civilians,

“The woods, now! And mama?” They were already gone before he had even said anything. As he had expected: they had been scared beyond reason or speaking. He grabbed a semi-auto from a body, and went to the next house, 2 hostages. The village was cleared in 30 minutes, him stealing guns and bullets when he could and using his hands when he couldn’t fire safely. He entered his home, and saw his mama lying in bed with a fever. It looked like they were trying to treat her: she had a lot of medicines and such around her. “Hallo, mama.”

“Bärchen?” She said weakly, him kneeling in front of her bed as she touched his hood. “I really hate that mask, Konig. Your face hidden from me…” He pulled it off.

“I know. Everyone is safe.” He put his head on her bed, and closed his eyes.

“You did so good, Bärchen. Don’t worry, you did so good.”

2016, December 21^st: Konig offered his arm. “I can carry you.”

“I can walk, silly boy.” His mama chuckled softly.

“Then lean on me: you are still recovering…” He had to take care of the bodies today, but he wasn’t touching them until his mama could at least be in her chair. Her fever had finally broken…She settled in, and Konig said softly, “I have to go, but I will still be in town.” She nodded, closing her eyes. He headed out, picking up the first few bodies. A fire would be best to handle it. He set them a good hundred yards from the town, traversing back and forth. It was about his 4^th trip, 3 bodies slung over his shoulder when he heard footsteps. “Excuse me?” English. He froze, looking towards the voice. Average height man, not much of a scent. Kind of…wet? Like mist, but woodsier. Had a half-healed nasty cut on the side of his face. He wasn’t hiding or being aggressive, but he had a hand on his gun defensively, and had about 5 others with him. “What are you doing there?” Another one of the men called in German aggressively,

“What are you doing there?” Actual German, not Austrio-Bavarian.

“No need to translate.” He stated in a low growl. “Was do you want?”

“Responding to a concerned General. Said one of his officers headed home to a large invading force, wanted someone to back him up.” Konig looked over him.

“Which General?”

“Schimdt. My name is Phillip Graves. Is the, uh, situation resolved?”

“Ja. Danke, but you are 5 days late. I began 17, done by 19.”

“You? Where’s your squad?”

“I…” What was the word in English? “No squad. Uh…Scheiße, Was ist das Wort? Retired, that’s it.”

“Holy sh*t.” He breathed, taking in the mound of bodies as Konig set the next 3 on the growing pile. “All this is your actions?”

“Ja.” He said flatly, turning to continue his work. Phillip joined him, talking rapidly. Too rapidly for Konig to catch everything. When he finished putting all the bodies on the pile, he poured gasoline on them, striking a match. “Wear mask.”

“Right, right.” The biohazard was serious. Phillip pulled on a fabric mask as Konig did the same, continuing to talk as it burned. “So?” Konig faced him, blinking. Phillip repeated, “This is one hell of a job. You plan on staying retired?”

“Du General will not likely let me rejoin. Warum?”

“Well, my company’s pretty new. Having a big name like yours would really help people’s trust.”

“A hiring speech.” Konig sighed, adding more fuel to the fire.

“It’s…it’s awe inspiring, really, you saving a whole town by yourself. I understand if you’re not too interested, but this is damn impressive work.” Konig said sarcastically,

“Joining a group that was late to help is such a gut idea.”

“Yeah, not my proudest moment, being late for here, but it happened. I’m still working out the kinks in our response times. It is a new paramilitary contracting company.”

“Your steak with rice?” Graves looked at him in amusem*nt. “Steak with rice. Your…”

“My stake in this?” Oh. Konig turned a slight red. American-English was not one of the 6 languages he spoke fluently. “I, uh, used to be a US Marine, in the American military. Then…” His eyes looked haunted. “I lost 2 squads trying to take down a cartel. The guy that managed to get out with me turned traitor and led another group to death. Me and one poor crazy motherf*cker are the only ones left from that whole thing. Don’t want anyone else to have that experience.”

“…Ja. I’ll join.” Phillip looked stunned.

“Really?” Konig set a hand on his head, ruffling his hair gently as he tensed.

“No one can fake the pain in your eyes.” Phillip smiled.

“I think we’re going to be close friends, but I’m not a nice boss.”

“No such thing, Herr Graves.” Konig stated firmly.

“Welcome to the Shadow Company, Colonel Konig Kilgore.”

Chapter 28: 2017

Chapter Text

2017, May 8^th: Ghost could barely think, the pain unbearable. But who could he trust? Not the supervisors, not the guards, not his ‘teammates’. His family was dead. He bit back a whimper. Maybe he should have stayed on those blockers-no. It was no better than an addiction: he stopped the thought as soon as he could. It was almost pitch black. He didn’t like the dark: it held things he’d rather forget. Who? He needed help: he wasn’t that pig headed. But he couldn’t trust anyone to help-UGH! He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. It had been 4 days of this: he was starting to lose control. He didn’t even have a nest set up, damn it! Wait. That guy, MacMillian. No, he was back in Scotland. The guy…the guy MacMillian trusted. He struggled out his phone, having to pause for several minutes to force the twisting churning in his gut to slow enough to breathe again. Price. Price had wiped his file. And he hadn’t looked. He hadn’t…Ghost could trust a man who didn’t look. He dialed.

“Price…” Came a very slurred statement.

“I…know it’s late, but I don’t…” Ghost couldn’t stop the whine that ripped through his throat, body curling into itself to try and stop the convulsion that racked his muscles.

“Where are you?” Came the soft order-no, it wasn’t an order: the tone wasn’t right. What was that tone? “Everything going to be okay, Simon, but I need you to tell me where you are. I’ll come and get you right this second.”

“T…the barracks, east side…” He gasped out, fighting back the tears of pain. Don’t cry: it’s just a bad heat. You’ve had them before. He heard a car door close as Price said softly,

“Okay, I’m on my way, focus on breathing for me. Can you do that, soldier?” Ghost nodded mutely, counting the seconds of inhale and exhale like his therapist had told him to, before she was killed. “Stay or come with me?”

“I-I can’t…they’ll HEAR.” Ghost whined out, barely able to stifle it to a whimper now.

“Then I’m taking you to my place. My mate’s home, and he can help more than I can.” Ghost snarled at the window as it rattled, the call disconnecting. “Blue. It’s me, you’re safe.” Ghost hesitantly sniffed: Moss and cocoa. Unmistakably Price.

“I don’t know your mate.” He didn’t trust his mate. Price entered through the window, crouching to be eye level to the man laying stomach down on the bed, mask covering his face but teeth clearly bared.

“I know, I can’t help that. But I don’t know how to help other than f*cking you.” Ghost went full defensive, Price continuing calmly while he maintained a good distance. “Which you clearly do not want. Please, let me help you the only way I can that you’d be comfortable with.” Ghost hesitated. He trusted Price: he didn’t look. But he didn’t know anything about his mate. But he also couldn’t stay: the barracks was filled with alphas and people who were more mentally aware right now: it was guaranteed to be hostile. If he went with Price, he would have 2-10 people to fight against, which was statistically better than 60. He nodded stiffly, Price exiting through the window, and offering a hand to help Ghost. Ghost refused it, climbing out himself-and doubled over, gripping his gut tightly as he huffed in agony. Price guided him without touching to an old pickup, where Ghost sat shotgun and Price drove steadily. Every jolt and bump make Ghost bite his tongue, struggling to stop the pained yelps from escaping. Price said comfortingly, “I have pretty bad ones, too. I get it. Here we are.” He opened the door for Ghost, but Ghost needed a minute to compose himself. Ghost wasn’t aware enough to notice specific details: they were in an apartment building near the base, on a higher floor than ground. No window to escape from in the hallway. Regular key to enter the apartment itself. Price opened the door, standing to the side.

“You first.”

“Got it. Nik, this is Ghost.” Peppers, very nervous. Small. Russian. “What can you…do?” Nik offered his wrist. Hands were shaking, no visible weapons. Ghost sniffed: mate bite on the neck. He was…safe enough. “Nik?” Ghost gingerly held up his own wrist, Nik taking a quick sniff and nodding thoughtfully.

“Hot towel. Pressure will help: Price or me?”

“…Price.” Ghost muttered. Nik seemed to find no offense.

“The pain is not from desire.” It wasn’t? “You…were hurt there.” Ghost bared his teeth, Nik automatically raised his hands and taking a step back. Still safe? Was he still safe? He wasn’t sure. Nik continued quickly, “No questions, no judges. Mere observation. You did not deserve…all deserve better.” Nik looked distant for a bit, then shook his head clear. “Heats will be painful until you heal. We can provide safe place and I can help…ease pain, but it takes time.” It was supposed to be HEALED ALREADY. He wasn’t supposed to still be hurt. The doctors said it was healed. Did they lie? Did he heal wrong? Will it always be this painful now…? Price waved from the side: a warning he was approaching. He had a towel in his hands with steam coming off of it. Ghost took it, looking at it oddly. He didn’t know what to do with a scalding hot towel. Nik grabbed a blanket, saying calmly, “Like so.” He rolled it up, wrapping it around his body at the hip, and tightened. Ghost did the same-and moaned, nearly hitting the floor as the pain tripled. Price caught him, Ghost’s legs spasming.

“Woah, I got you.” Ghost whined, but kept it tight. “Nik.”

“It is painful at first. Very. It will ease.”

“Hurts…f*cker-sh*t!” Ghost choked out, Price clearly following instructions as he awkwardly set Ghost on his lap with his hands wrapped around Ghost’s kidneys. “I’m going to-damn!”

“I know. I know, breathe.” Nik said gently, fishing for something in a drawer based on the rattling. Price had Ghost pinned too tightly for the struggling man to get loose. He wasn’t safe, he wasn’t safe! Nik was going to hurt him-

“We’ve got you, kid. Settle down.” Ghost went rigid. He’d never heard an alpha sound so calm and somehow so worried at the same time, at least towards him. The pain was easing now: he could breathe without having to focus on it, Price continuing to hold his waist tightly with the warmth relaxing his muscles. It was soothing, the pain finally fading enough for his eyes to close…

2017, May 9^th: He snapped awake, unaware of where he was, reaching for his knife-he yelped as his stomach muscles locked in protest to the sudden movement, jaw hitting the ground. “Ow.”

“Hey, Simon.” He had the knife drawn-oh. Price. Right. He had…called him last night in near delirium. The night before was mostly a blur: he remembered smelling peppers, and Price’s mate helped him out. “How are you feeling?”

“…Fine. Sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong: no need to apologize.” Price said casually, the kitchen smelling…amazing. Was Price cooking? “I thought you might be hungry, so I made tea, toast, and a bit of egg. Last night was a little rough for you.” Price had a bandaged arm. Ghost looked at it intensely. Those were…his teeth marks. Price noticed him studying. “You were a bit temperamental. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“I…sorry, should have kept my jaw straight.”

“You were defending yourself. Nik explained a bit: he’s been through something similar.” He…had? “At least, heat-wise, I mean. I can’t claim he’s been through the same with the rest, since I don’t know it. Here you go. And uh, jaw on straight?”

“Yeah.” Ghost offered nothing more, taking in the apartment. Nik was nowhere in sight, but he could still smell the pepper: he was somewhere in the home. Price reiterated,

“What does that mean, jaw on straight?”

“Oh. Stayed calm.” People had told him he had unusual turn of phrases: he had heard them from his brother all the time.

“Simon, you were in pain and highly distressed. I’m impressed you managed to get here even with my help: you were plenty calm. And don’t worry about keeping your jaw straight. I can handle most things.” Ghost nodded, hiding his knife away and going for the door. “Hey, Simon.”

“Ghost.” He corrected.

“Ghost. I meant what I said. You need anything, call me. Even if it’s the middle of the night. Glad you’re feeling better.”

“…Thanks.” Ghost mentally noted that they were safe. For now.

2017, July 10^th: Logan winced as his dad and brother got way too into the bloody story, coffee smell strong: it was

comforting, familiar. Logan didn’t like blood or pain, his own scent of jasmine smelling more than a little sour. Maybe he would join the army anyways in 2 years. He had a lot to live up to, with his dad being…well, a Ghost. Logan was already in the military, too. Being an omega wasn’t an excuse, as his dad constantly told him whenever he was weak, like now. The pooling heat in his stomach was not helping his queasiness…they started heading home, David helping him up as they felt a tremor. Dad joked,

“Those things used to freak the hell out of your mother.” His mom had always been a bit jumpy, even for an omega. Logan took more after her than any of the guys…Another one so soon? “We’ll get a couple more before everything settles down.”

“Wind’s picking up-” Logan nearly hit his face on the ground as it started shaking violently. “Dad?”

“Let’s just get to the house and make sure nothing’s damaged.” Then it got worse: everything was on fire. “ODIN?”

“Dad, what’s happening?!”

“Get to the house, boys! NOW! It’s ODIN!” What was Odin? David grabbed his arm, pulling him along in a panic. “It’s not an earthquake!”

“What-” Dad cut David off, snapping,

“You boys get to the house and stay there: I’m going for the truck! JUST DO IT!”

“Come on, Lo! What the hell is going on…?” Logan knew his brother didn’t expect a response, but was trying to comfort him nonetheless with gentle touches as he pulled him along. They got inside soon enough, the sounds muffled here. “The hell is Dad talking about? What’s ODIN?!” Then the house started collapsing. “The house won’t take much more: back door, let’s go! Jammed, count of 3!” Logan obeyed as best he could, breathing heavily in panic. Then everything was literally falling apart, Logan panicking and freaking out. If it wasn’t for David barking simple orders at him, he would have died. He was acutely aware of just how close to death they were coming with every step. David ended up carrying him to the truck after they fell out of a 4^th story window trying to get to higher ground away from the rubble, body unable to run and keep his muscles from cramping up due to his heat. But he wasn’t concussed enough to forget about the raining hellfire that littered the sky.

2017, July 15^th: Price watched as Ghost got his new badge. The first omega Lieutenant. He felt a swell of pride for the kid. Someone managed to break Garrick’s record in the Alpha FNGs: someone named John MacTavish made it in 17 and a half. People took to calling him Soap because of it. Kate was now settled into the CIA as the British Intelligence liaison. Everything was as calm as it ever got with wars everywhere, social unrest due to the new laws allowing omegas to enter every profession and not get harassed for it without the aggressor facing charges, civil wars everywhere else and America going through it…Nikolai grabbed his hand, Price looking back at him. “You are too stressed. Come to bed, my ‘mate’.” Price chuckled.

“It sounds so sarcastic when you say that, Nik.”

“Da, but you know the true meaning.” Price kissed him lightly.

“‘Da’, I do.” Nikolai laughed as his exaggerated pronunciation, pulling him into their shared nest. As they held each other, Price asked gently, “Do you ever think of kids?”

“Every time we-”

“No!” Price blushed, Nikolai laughing, cupping Price’s face. “I mean, like…kids.”

“Like your soldiers, but a pack. Da, every time I see you look on those kids with pride, even the ones you did not train. Why do you not offer them? I have already said I like kids.”

“…Because I’m their boss. It feels…wrong, Nik, taking advantage of their trauma like that.”

“Or are you worried about your own?” Price winced, Nikolai gently running his fingers through Price’s hair. “I know you too well, John. And it won’t matter if they are your pack or not: if they get hurt, you get hurt.” Price sighed.

“I’ll think on it, Nik. And besides, technically, you’re in Russia.”

“And technically, so are you.” Nikolai teased, kissing him lightly as they snuggled closer.

Chapter 29: 2018-2019, July

Chapter Text

2018, August 7^th: Kyle reapplied the wax before his boss got there, shaking off the overwhelming smell- “You alright?”

“Yes, sir.” He said flatly, focusing on the waxy emptiness instead of the guy’s words. All he could smell was his own scent: clay.

“Alright. Let’s get you joined up to SAS, Garrick.” Kyle went through the introductions, taking the hands of everyone with his long gloves on. He didn’t want to seem rude, though knew he’d have to wash the unhealthy globs of scent off his gloves before the blocker wore off. He was here. That was enough for him. It wouldn’t matter if he was a beta if he could prove he was invaluable. And that’s exactly what he would do in this group. After all, if an omega could make Lieutenant in SAS, he could make it in SAS.

2019, July 7^th: Soap whooped as he grabbed a pint. Fastest to clear CQB, youngest to join SAS: he was on top of the world! And his siblings said being the smallest made him the weakest. No more toxic alpha sh*te now! Though the smell of all the omegas around him did make him sick on occasion-particularly right now, a day after his rut ended-it was nice that they trusted him. Or were they flirting? Honestly, he couldn’t tell with his head full of piss, and they kept giving him more. He felt someone grab his arms. “What are you-” He slurred out, someone kissing him. He started trying to pull away, arms feeling like lead. What was happening? His head felt like it was flooded, body burning as people kept kissing him, kept grabbing him, kept touching him. “Stop-no, don’t want-” He cried out as teeth sunk into his thigh, pain forcing his mind into consciousness as he was surrounded by omegas. He didn’t know how many, and he didn’t know where he was. “Stop! That f*cking hurts! H-” Someone covered his mouth as another set of fangs dug into his thigh even harder, him screaming in pain. More and more teeth drove into his skin, his body aching as if he’d just run a marathon as flashes came to him. Tears started pouring out of his eyes. No. No, he wasn’t- some of them taunted him.

“What a crybaby! It’s just some fun for us: not like your kind hasn’t done it for centuries!”

“He’s barely even an alpha: why’s the knot got to be so small? Could barely feel it.” He choked and sobbed and begged: none of them cared. He blacked out as the 12^th bite came down.

2019, July 8^th: Soap choked back a cry of agony as he limped inside the restroom, pulling down his pants enough to look at his thigh in the gas station’s mirror. They had nearly bitten a chunk out of him. He felt filthy, the scent surrounding him as the flashes continued. He pulled out his phone with shaking fingers. “Hello?”

“I-Iris, I need help.” He choked out.

“Soap? What’s wrong?”

“I…I…” He couldn’t tell his cousin. Alphas didn’t get raped. They didn’t get pack bonded against their will. If he pressed charges, they would retaliate, say he did it to them, not the other way around. He sobbed. “I…need a ride back to base. I don’t know where I am.” Iris sighed in relief.

“Yeah, Soap, I’ve got you. Partied a little too hard, then?”

“Y-yeah…” Soap would never get drunk again. He’d never take drinks from strangers. He’d never…he’d never let this happen to anyone else. Iris came by tracking his phone, and brough with him coffee, toast, and some ibuprofen. He didn’t turn on Bone Licker or anything else, just let Soap sober up and handle the hangover. “Thanks, Iris.”

“No problem, Soap. Be safe.” He nodded absently, and went to take a shower as he fought back the sobs again.

Chapter 30: 2019, October

Chapter Text

2019, October 25^th: Alex shifted as he was debriefed, cotton scent invading every corner. “Are you in heat, Alex?” Some would consider that invasive. Everyone in the military, though? It could be deadly if you were and they didn’t know.

“No, sir. Just strong scented.” Laswell nodded.

“I’ve got a new mission for you, then. We’re tracking that gas down.”

“I’m ready, sir.” Alex said firmly. He knew what he was good at, and so did Kate.

“Sgt. Garrick, roger up.” He said softly, peering around warily,

“Go for Garrick.”

“Terror threat level is now critical. Possibly multiple attackers, bombers or worse.”

“We have snipers?” He asked, eyes peeled for anything out of place.

“Negative, Sargeant. Can’t unduly alarm the public.” His scent of clay spiked, making his teammates glance at him. Terrorist know that, too? He so desperately wanted to say that.

“Crystal, sir.” The connection clicked, and his teammate scoffed.

“Turning omega already?” Kyle ignored him, watching for suspicious actions. “We’ll handle it. Let’s get it done, yeah?” Garrick nodded. It went to chaos quickly when the van blew. The smell of burning rubber broke through the scent blocker, Garrick’s eyes watering even as he carefully checked each shot to only hit a terrorist. He got into the book store, clearing it out, covering fire as people screamed at him. He stayed calm. It was something he was just good at, not reacting to emotion in the heat of the moment. He didn’t hesitate to hit anyone, trying to force the metal up-he grabbed the knife just as a shot went through the terrorist’s skull. Kyle called instantly,

“Blue, blue!”

“I see you. Armed up?” His heart was pounding, scents assaulting his mind. This new man smelled like moss and cocoa: a calming scent. He was an alpha: everyone else on his team was an omega. Looked familiar, too, but Kyle didn’t have time to place him. Kyle nodded, and together they shoved the metal off, the stranger saying flatly, “Captain Price.”

“Sargeant Garrick, sir.” Ah, he was the trainer Kyle had gone through to get into SAS: he covered all betas and omegas.

“You’re with me.” They cleared the building but the hostage with the bomb vest…Price made the right call: Garrick would never say otherwise. But he was fuming. He said nothing: It didn’t matter what he had to say, that much he knew. Captain Price had saved his life: he liked the guy. He was calm, in control, and in charge, with no hesitation. But that didn’t change the fact they had to kill a civilian. It didn’t change the fact he was a beta and no one listened to betas. He had had intel on this. He couldn’t… “You saved lives today, Sergeant.” He looked at the damage left over from the gas. The fresh blood slowly draining to the sewers from the gunfire. All things he could have prevented if he could have just-!

“It shouldn’t have happened in the first place, sir. Sent us in half-assed, so everyone can pretend we’re not at war.” That was the most he’d said in a while: something about Price set him at ease. Price scoffed.

“Lie of the f*cking century, that is.”

“Why have we got our hands tied?” He snapped angrily, continuing. “Let’s take the bloody gloves off and fight. Sir. Sorry.” He pulled back, embarrassed at his sudden lapse of judgement. Price instead just nodded.

“No, go on.”

“…We don’t stand a chance in hell with these rules of engagement, Captain. They tell us where, when, but not how.” Price nodded, Kyle continuing, “My men were tracking that cell for weeks.” Price’s eyes instantly narrowed, him whispering as his scent spiked with a touch of vinegar,

“You had actionable intel on this?” He came closer, so Kyle just nodded: Price clearly didn’t want this to be overheard. “You’re with me now, Garrick. Keep up.” Kyle nodded, following as Price answered a phone, calling someone, Garrick only hearing half of the talking. “On orders from the Wolf in Urzikstan. You’ll need the Liberation Force on his side, so have him contact the CO. We’re acquainted. Use my name, or they’ll kill. They don’t have a lot of allies out there. Thanks, Kate. Price out.” After the phone call, they were on a plane out. “What’s your thoughts on this, Garrick?” He shrugged.

“Just tired of civilians dying, sir.” Price considered him.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” He shook his head. “I like that, but don’t worry about speaking your mind with me, Garrick. I’m tough enough to handle a little disagreement.” He chuckled lightly. That would be a first.

“Yes, sir. Why have an omega team, sir?” Price chuckled.

“Some of the best trackers, soldiers, and selfless people I know. You’re willing to fight for queen and country, I don’t care what your identity is.” Kyle nodded, rubbing his head. “Take a rest. You were the scent sensitive trainee in ’14, right?” Kyle nodded; surprised Price recalled him at all. Sure, he’d broken a record, but to even recall he was scent sensitive when Kyle had never said as much to him…Price handed him a jar of wax. “I’ll wake you when we’re there, Garrick.” He nodded again, slowly dozing off.

2019, October 26^th: Alex noted there were two scents on Farah as she moved. Avocado and pineapple. Her brother had the same, though the pineapple was stronger. They must scent each other for mutual protection, even as alphas. The longer she was away from Hadir, the more avocado took over her smell. It was light, but pleasant. Alex shook the feeling off. He had to stay professional. She taught him basic guerilla warfare: he taught her how to issue command without her alpha tone, so she didn’t trigger survivors of that unique trauma. He didn’t put much stock into those identities: it never stopped his work and he enjoyed the challenge of proving his worth. But he also knew how strong those who were traumatized by that identity’s instinct took ahold. She was a quick learner, excited to learn how not to upset her own people who were just trying to live their lives. It hurt his heart to see these people so…used to these horrors. It was a daily thing for them. Hadir re-scented her once she was back. “Hey. I don’t mean to be rude, but why are you scenting your sister?”

“Comfort. Omegas here are terrified of unbonded alphas. Even platonic scenting helps them keep calm and quiet.” Alex nodded. They moved fluidly, Alex easily masking as part of the pack, him having studied pack mentality to help undercover missions in groups. Blending into the populace was simple when you knew how it worked. He smiled as they headed back after blowing the base. This was a good day, and Farah was happier than he’d seen her be since arriving.

2019, October 27^th: Price had gifted him a different kind of scent-blocker, one that worked perfectly. It was even wax coated fabric: made it easier to remove if needed and less messy. They moved through the house, Price’s calm tone guiding them through all of it. Frankly, Kyle wouldn’t have minded pack-bonding with this guy. He was an alpha, and wasn’t ashamed of that, but he wasn’t harsh. Just a leader. It was a new experience, and one Kyle was glad to have, even if it didn’t last. Kyle picked up the detonator the last woman was going for, shaking his head. “Good thing we dropped her.” Kyle nodded, Price looking over the documents. “We found the Wolf. You want to stay in?”

“I’ll see this through, sir.”

2019, October 28^th: Alex laid down next to his new pack. He’d refused to be scented (just a preference of his unless he knew he was staying for a long time), but he would act as one of them for as long as he can. He had to join the Demon Dogs, but didn’t talk to them. They weren’t his pack, and they never would be. It was just orders, orders he followed perfectly, and they got the Wolf. He grinned as he settled back into his pack with Farah, contacting Price and his new buddy, Garrick, to explain. He nodded at the ETA, and said casually to Farah, “3 minutes.” Wolf insisted he did not steal the gas, but wasn’t hiding anything else he had done. Kill children, burn crops, salt land. Then the mob below breached, Alex contacting Price again.

Garrick swore as they hit the ground from the heli. “You broken?”

“I’m good.” He gasped out, getting up as Price called over radio,

“Echo 3-1, primary exfil failed, we’re down on the roof.”

“Copy. What’s the call, Captain?” Price resecured his hat, saying calmly but firmly,

“Saferoom in the basem*nt, head there, we’ll be right behind you.” They had to ignore the civilians. They had to secure the Wolf, or more would die than the building. It pained Garrick, but they had to move. He tried to ignore the child getting shot, but his scent spiked with bleach as he ignored everything but catching the Wolf. His scent was the only sign to Price he was distraught. His aim was perfectly stable, hands not shaking, legs not buckling (Price didn’t know if he was impressed or worried about that kind of control over his own body). Price evidently knew this ‘Farah’, and this ‘Alex’. But Garrick didn’t: he stayed quiet, taking in the situation on the cameras and ignoring the people around him. “Kyle, find the ambassador, guide him to safety. We need his keycard.” He stated,

“On it. Ambassador’s dead, but his assistant’s there, with the card. I’ll get her.” She was terrified: and bitten. She was a bonded omega. He guided her gently and clearly, but Stacy had to leave her mate behind.

“I want to go home.” She said weakly after he got shot right in front of her.

“You will, you’re almost out. He’s gone, move.” She came through, Kyle joining them quickly in silence, only saying, “Stay behind me, Stacy.” She nodded, tears in her eyes. He got her into the compound to a safe room, and then went back out to fight the coming army. He didn’t shake. He couldn’t afford to and keep everyone here safe. They ended up having to cut bait: the Wolf got out. Garrick obeyed until it was over. He didn’t have a choice. Alex swore they would catch him as he headed out. Garrick waited until they were gone-and sunk his teeth into a seat cover, snarling. Price was right there, watching him lose it. Kyle wanted to stop himself, but he couldn’t. After 6 minutes of ripping the seat apart, Kyle sat on it, rubbing tears away. “Sorry, sir.”

“No, I feel the same.” He sighed, taking a seat next to him. “You were so calm during, I figured you’d respond like that once it was over.” Kyle gripped his neck, breathing deeply. Losing control like that was embarrassing, though he’d only done so twice in the military. Right after interrogation training, and just now. “You broken?”

“No, sir. Just angry we left all those people to complete an objective, and failed it.”

“It happens. We just have to keep moving.” Kyle nodded.

“Yes, sir. Alright now.” Price pat his shoulder.

“Good on you. Let’s get this f*cker, eh?” Kyle nodded curtly.

2019, October 29^th: They got the news, and they were in the air. Hadir had taken the gas and detonated it. Kyle grabbed Alex as Price supported a very, VERY angry alpha that smelled like avocado. Kyle didn’t usually submit to instincts, but her pure rage made it difficult not to. It was thanks to his training he didn’t. They got to the heli and flew to base. Alex defended Hadir, and Farah was determined to come. She didn’t care: she was going to kill her brother. In her own words, “We take care of our own.” Garrick took point: he could smell everyone on this base with no scent blocker active. He didn’t hesitate: neither did anyone else of this group. They had a mission, and they would complete it. Emotions would be sorted out later. Farah and Alex got caved into the Wolf’s ‘Den’, as she called it. They finished it. Kyle thought it was appropriate, and they cleared out, Kyle relaxing away from the madness. Except…Farah’s group was labeled terrorists due to Hadir’s actions. Alex decided to come back with Farah, and couldn’t be convinced otherwise. Not that Kyle actually tried to: he supported it full-heartedly. Price and Kate talked quietly: apparently, they had quite the history together. Price had given him his phone, to pass the time. Evidently, he knew this would be a long talk and didn’t want Kyle being idle, so told him to look into his messages to get the basic history lesson. According to Kate’s messages, Price was why she managed to propose to a ‘Terri’, known for kicking alpha ass. They had 8 months of talking about it before it shifted to planning the wedding. Kate was why Price had met his own mate, which Kyle had never heard about before. As far as most of the people in SAS were concerned, Price wasn’t even dating anyone, despite having a clear mating mark on his neck. But other than being Russian, there was no information on them, since Kyle couldn’t read or speak it and their texts were all Russian. He also checked on this ‘Terri’s and their messages. Mostly football talks, mentioning of complaints over a ‘Keegan’, and talking about anniversary dinner plans most recently. Keegan was also in his phone: they had sent exactly one text to each other introducing who they were. Price returned, Kyle handing over his phone instantly. “We’re going on a road trip. Pack civi.” Kyle nodded, already ready. “We’re going to Moscow. Nik.” Price spoke Russian fluently, even as they boarded the plane. A man in the most casual clothing Kyle had ever seen, smelling like curry-more specifically, peppers-appeared, Price and him automatically scenting each other. So this was his Russian mate.

“Nikolai, meet Kyle. Kyle, meet my bonded mate.” Kyle gave a nod, and followed. They spoke quietly in English now, planning a break in. “Kyle, this is black. You can’t do something, step down: gloves are off now.” Kyle nodded.

“I’m with you, sir.” Nikolai offered a gloved hand: Kyle took it.

“Nice to meet you, my friend. Let’s get Barkov handled. He is a stain on my country.”

2019, October 31^st: They headed to the place, Price calling as they dropped bodies in the street, “Trash in the alley. Target is the Butcher, Kyle.” Nik called casually,

“I brought bags.” Price chuckled.

“You thought of everything, Nik.” They got into a gun fight when they saw the Butcher, and Kyle took off after him, checking fire to make sure he didn’t waste ammo or hit the Butcher, or hit civilians. The Butcher didn’t care about that, but Kyle did. Nikolai and Price were seemingly having a coded talk over comms as he chased the Butcher down himself- Nikolai hit the Butcher with a car, Kyle skipping to a halt with wide eyes. Price helped Kyle get him in the back with a smile.

“That’s just Nik, mate.” Right, casually hitting someone with a car was ‘just Nik’.

“Ah, engine is cranky. One moment.” Price snapped worriedly,

“Sing it a lullaby, Nik!” They got away, and got Butcher detained in the basem*nt. Kyle almost winced at each hit from the larger Alpha, Price watching unfazed. It stank of anger and hate, almost too much to bear. Then he threatened them-Price grabbed his shoulder before he got closer. “Head in the game, Sargeant.” He bit his tongue, breath shaking at Price’s small warning.

“We need to break him, Cap.” Price nodded.

“We will. Nik, where’s the package?” Package?

“Pulling in now, ‘mate’.”

“Thanks. You go to Nikolai, get the package, and come back here, alright?” Kyle nodded curtly, and stepped out, breathing in the less tainted air. The heavy Russian accent called,

“Ah, Garrick. Package is in the back, da?” Kyle nodded, Nikolai watching his expression for…something. “Truth serum.” Kyle opened it-and his heart froze. It was a mom and son, rapidly speaking Arabic. He couldn’t speak Arabic, but he knew the acidic taste of genuine terror in a scent. “Bargaining chips for negotiation.” Kyle looked at the casual man beside him, staring for a second. “Perhaps the Butcher will have a change of heart.” Kyle shut it off, grabbing the mother as she begged him for mercy in broken English. He didn’t reply, kept moving them forward as Price came out.

“W-why are we here?” Price looked down at them, shushing them before looking at Kyle. His scent was rising, bleach forming.

“You don’t have to do this.” Kyle hesitated, voice cracking.

“I’m with you, sir.” Too late now. He couldn’t stop the shaking this time, Price touching his shoulder.

“You wanted gloves off. They’re off.” Kyle let Price talk, only verbally affirming as the larger guy asked to leave. He took the gun, and aimed at the mother. The chamber clicked empty. Kyle almost sighed in relief. “Rest assured that I wouldn’t let the Sargeant brandish a loaded weapon indoors unless he had to.” Price set bullets on the table. “Load it.” Kyle did slowly, the Butcher spilling everything as the acidic scent of terror flooded his scent. Kyle stumbled out, breath shaking as he tried to stop the tears. Nikolai nodded in understanding, Price already loading the police car with the needed equipment. Kyle sat in the back, rubbing his wrist to try and get the smell of terror out of his nose. The putrid burning of acid in his nostrils. Price said calmly, “There’s a fine line between right and wrong.” Kyle stared off for a bit before asking faintly,

“…Was that wrong, sir?” Price shrugged.

“You tell me.” Kyle choked. It didn’t FEEL right…

“I think so, yeah…” Price drove as Kyle tried to calm down, straight through a blockade. Kyle finally calmed down enough to speak without shaking. “Boss. What are we doing?”

“Cleaning up a mess.” He said plainly.

“That was…that was a mum and a kid.”

“Leverage.” Price wasn’t fooling Kyle: he hadn’t liked it any more than he had. The difference was, Price had done it before.

“Hostages.” Price snapped, his alpha voice coming out for the first time, ricocheting around the car,

“When you take the gloves off, you get blood on your hands. That’s how it works.” Price took a deep breath as Kyle pulled back slightly, the harsh tone setting off his own urges. It was silent for a while as they both settled their emotions to talk calmly.

“…Where do we draw the line, sir?” His voice quailed, and Price’s tone instantly shifted to one of comfort.

“Where you need it. Someone has to make the enemy scared of the dark. We get dirty, world stays clean. That’s the mission. Kyle. If you’re having second thoughts, I’ll do this on my own. I won’t break someone I care about like this.” Kyle steadied his breathing, straightening as he forced his leftover emotion to the side. He would process after.

“No, sir. No second thoughts. But next time we use hostages to interrogate, count me out.” Price nodded.

“Copy. Good to know your limits. Let’s get Hadir before he kills Barkov.”

Chapter 31: 2019

Chapter Text

2019, November 1^st: Kyle trusted Price. Even after the hostage situation, he trusted him to lead. To keep him safe and give him instruction when he wasn’t sure what to do. This was no different. And now, he knew that despite the horrors he’d just done, Price was just as upset about it as Kyle was. He just was used to the horrors of war, whereas Kyle was still relatively new. Hardened, yes, but he didn’t see this side often. Hadir was found: he had found the gas factory. They got him out, his pineapple smell nauseating to Kyle: the wax had gotten rubbed off now. He could smell everything, the fire overwhelming-moss and cocoa. He looked up at Price as he shouted, “You broken?”

“N-no-” Price shoved a hand in his face, barking with a firm nod,

“On your feet, we are leaving!” Kyle took the hand, and they rushed along, protecting each other, all the way to the tunnel that got hit by a missile-Price checked him over. “Clear your head.” Kyle smiled weakly.

“Never been clearer, sir.” He pinned Hadir down. “We going to finish this, cap?”

“We need support: hope we get it. Your stunt cost your sis a lot more than you think, Hadir.” Laswell appeared, smelling of burnt sugar, taking Hadir to turn over to Russia. Price was irritated, but obeyed. “Hadir’s yours, intel’s mine.” Laswell looked hurt.

“Whatever is happening, I can help.” Price said softly but firmly,

“I’ll call if I need you, Kate.” She nodded stiffly, then headed back inside. They headed to Farah and Alex, Kyle watching warily as Price negotiated, Farah nodding firmly. Price explained the plan, “This is a covert op to destroy Barkov’s gas lab. Nikolai’s my mate: he’s inside and providing the explosives. Two teams infil: Kyle and I plant charges on the pipeline, Farah and Alex get a detonator from Nikolai and rig the main furnace. Charges get set, get a safe distance, and bring it down. Air support from Kate Laswell paves the way: rest is us. Once we hit the ground, any alternate plans fall on Farah: this is her op from there. Got it?”

“Crystal, sir.” Kyle said softly, Alex and Farah nodding.

2019, November 3^rd: It was messy, violent. But necessary. They had to take out this gas. Alex knew they had to as they breached and pulled on a mask. He didn’t feel fear: his pack was here, and they worked flawlessly. Nikolai was clearly non-military, an omega with a gentle spirit. But he carried weapons like they were merely flour, so maybe Alex wouldn’t read him as easily as others. He kept moving with Farah, to the furnace. He swore. “Detonator’s f*cked.” She checked it, then nodded.

“I’ll go in there.”

“And what?”

“Ignite the furnace.” Alex stared at her.

“You’d never get away in time.”

“I know what I’m doing.” Alex squared himself: her alpha voice was coming back.

“Farah, listen-”

“You listen. Because of this poison, my people have known something worse than war. I did not come this far to turn back!”

“I’m not asking you to. Give the order.” Farah’s eyes narrowed.

“I won’t. I’m not your CO.”

“No. You’re my alpha.” Her cheeks turned a slight rose, avocados filling the air. “Someone needs to light this fire, and someone needs to kill Barkov: you can’t do both. This is an assignment I believe in. Give the order, alpha.” Farah closed her eyes.

“…You are a freedom fighter, Alex.” She handed him the bomb. “Go. And come back.” Alex nodded.

“I don’t run from a pack that easy, ma’am. Good luck.” Farah snuck on his helicopter, and killed the man who took everything, throwing him off the heli. She tapped comms.

“Barkov is dead. Alex?”

“I’m not getting out of here. Do it.”

“Thank you, mate.”

“Yes, alpha.”

“All clear, captain. Blow it.” She opened the pilot door-and found Nikolai. How had he gotten here?

“Russia would be proud.” She had…mixed feelings about that statement. “Where to?”

“Urzikstan. Home.” He nodded vaguely.

“One stop before. I have gift.” He landed just outside of the factory-and Farah saw a soot covered Alex. “Contingency in Kevlar. My specialty and gift for bond.” Farah embraced him without hesitating, them scenting each other as Nikolai flew back home.

2019, December 2^nd: Kate smiled up at Price as he sat down, anxious about why he’d asked for these files. Her scent blockers didn’t help hide her own due to this: sugar permeated everything. “Tea?”

“I’m a long way from a proper pint, Kate.” He chuckled, sliding into a seat with a hat tilt.

“Russia disowned Barkov.” Price shrugged: she didn’t think he’d be surprised by that.

“They didn’t have much choice, did they? He’s dead.”

“You took a big bite out of that problem, John.”

“For now, but left unchecked.” What was he wanting? She set files on the table.

“They won’t be. General Shepard pulled the files you asked for. What exactly is this about?”

“Task force.” She pulled the files back a bit, raising an eyebrow.

“We already have loose ends, John.”

“I will tie them, Kate.” He said gently but firmly.

“I fund assets, not outlaws.” He raised his hands half-mockingly.

“Enjoy the tea, then.” She sighed. Damn, he was hard to work with: made Shepard look like a cakewalk.

“Zakhaev wants Barkov’s throne.” He turned back with a smile.

“I buried him in Pripyat, with MacMillian.” John always spoke of his former commander fondly.

“That’s the father. This is the son, Victor.”

“Lovely family.” Kate practically whispered,

“They’re big fans of Hadir’s.”

“That would explain why he’s still alive.” Kate pressed as his scent spiked a bit,

“They’re going to get him out.” He leaned in, whispering back,

“Then give me what I need.” Damn, she hated him. She pushed the folders forward, and he opened the top one with a smile.

“Who’s your crew?”

“Garrick.” The kid he’d brought in with him. “I call him Gaz now. Doesn’t talk much: never did apparently. John MacTavish, SAS cleaner and demolitions. Goes by Soap.” Kate raised a brow.

“Why?”

“Classified ‘cording to him.” He chuckled warmly, laying the file so Kate could easily read it. “There he is. Simon Riley. Goes by Ghost.” She raised an eyebrow.

“No picture?” He shook his head.

“Never. Rest is need to know, unless we’ve got a deal.” She sighed.

“What are you calling this task force?”

“141.” His favorite gun. Hell, John… She sighed.

“I’ll see what I can do, but we’ve got issues with AQ. They’ve got a new leader already. Get who you can of these guys, but MacTavish…he’s too green right now. Keep him clear of AQ for now.” John nodded in agreement.

“Planned on it: he’s got trust issues with authority.” Which was most of the people he was talking about. “Oh, and Nik’s moving to London with me. Got tired of all the violence back in Moscow.”

“I knew one of you would move soon enough. Terri is looking forward to seeing him again.”

“I’ll try to set up a tea.”

2019, December 12^th: Ghost checked his phone, trying to ignore the heat swelling in his body. His own lilac scent was starting to nauseate him at the intensity: this is why he didn’t take blockers, but no one else could take care of that cell…New text from Price. Same thing as the last week and a half. Some new task force. He wasn’t interested in a new team. He had had enough of teams, he did fine on his own. But he opened it out of obligation.

‘Just come have a tea. Or else.’ He stared at the peach emoji at the end of the message.

“What the f*ck, Price?” That was too confusing to not come. He had to at least figure out why the hell Price would send an almost complete stranger that kind of message. He texted back.

‘bar on Swede, 7. U pay.’ Price sent a thumbs up. f*ck, it was a grandpa learning how to text…he showed up early, securing a table and a bourbon, scent blocking collar hidden under his mask. At 6:45, Price showed up.

“Damn, I thought I was early, Si-”

“Ghost.” Price nodded at the barked correction, Ghost showing his phone. “Why the f*ck did you send an ass emoji?”

“I thought it was a peach. Peach pits hurt: I was going to throw peaches at you in the mess.”

“No one would get that impression.” Ghost sighed, fiddling with his bottle slightly as Price ordered a hot tea, trying to ignore the pooling heat in his gut. “Why do you even want me on this team?”

“You’re one of the best ops SAS has ever had: red tape’s annoying. 141 has different rules of engagement. You’d help more folk.”

“How many people?”

“Right now, me and 4 others. I’m keeping it small.” Ghost studied him as he drank the tea.

“On the books?”

“Officially. Wet and black.”

“You trust them?”

“95%. Always keep a 5 off.” Ghost scoffed. Smart man.

“Death rate?”

“None so far. Higher than most, though. Impossible missions.” Higher stakes if they fail. Ghost’s heart fluttered at the prospect: he cursed his adrenaline problem. Still, there were worse things to be an addict to. He forcibly pushed the thought away.

“Identities?”

“Me and one other are alphas, possibly a 3^rd; 2 are betas; and one’s an omega. Healthy mix.” Price knew he’d ask that. Despite his best attempts, the trauma did still show up in clear ways. Ghost sighed.

“What would you do if you were me?” Price chuckled, lighting a cigar. He already knew he had Ghost by the wrist, and he wasn’t going anywhere. Ghost always thought Price was sharp.

“I’d run. Already doing the queen’s service, already seen it all: why risk even more?”

“f*cking hell, Price. Fine. Right, I’ve been debating.” Price nodded, Ghost not making eye contact. “…You want another pack member between you and your mate?” Price almost choked; Ghost tensed as he waited for the response.

“Damn. Now I have to ask the others. I’ve been putting it off for years now…” Ghost chuckled weakly. “We’ll do it in private with anyone else who agrees, okay? I know that took a lot to even ask, and I don’t want to push you far. Welcome to the land of the living, Ghost.” He scoffed, finishing off his bourbon.

“Just don’t get me sent back too fast, eh?” Price laughed as Ghost headed out. He called Nikolai.

“Nik, I have news. Ghost asked to pack bond.” He laughed as Nikolai cheered wildly. “Yeah, I’m excited, too. Going to ask Gaz.”

“Now that someone forced your hand? You are too scared of rejection, ‘mate’.”

“Oh, shush.” Nikolai laughed at the light snap. “Tonight or tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow: I want to properly set up!”

“Got it. Thanks, pepper spray.” Nikolai hung up, and Price took a deep breath, hands trembling slightly as he called Gaz.

“Captain.”

“Gaz. No mission, just an offer.” Gaz’s breathing was steady. He could almost imagine the clay scent. He waited for a second to make sure Gaz had heard him and was listening, then continued, “141: me and Nik are thinking of making it more than a team. Possibly making it a pack.” Gaz’s breath hitched, and Price paused again to let him process. Packs were big things, big commitments on both sides, especially as adults. With kids, it was simpler. They needed protection, and a pack provided that. As an adult? You were expected to bring something to the pack as well. Usually companionship was the requirement, though some people brought financial security, sexual comfort, medical aide, emotional support: all things they naturally offered. And depending how what you were taught about packs made it a complex offer…

“You sure, sir?” Gaz’s soft voice snapped Price out of his spiraling thoughts.

“I am.” Gaz chuckled: breathy, quick. Uneasy.

“…So am I. On you, cap.” Price’s heart swelled.

“Great. Uh, tomorrow? You can come over, Nik’s cooking? Another member will be there, too. Goes by Ghost.”

“Tomorrow, then. What’s Ghost like?”

“Stand offish, but good kid. It may take a bit for him to open up.”

“I’ll be ready. What about Farah?” Price nodded.

“I’ll extend an offer after we get off. Text what she says, but we’ll have to go to her.”

“On you, cap. Got to go.” Gaz hung up, and Price shook his fist in excitement before calling Farah. She answered after a bit.

“Captain. Is there another situation?”

“No mission, just an offer. 141.”

“Go on.” She called in Arabic, “Alex, come over: captain has an offer for 141.”

“Me and Nik are making it more than a team: we’re making it a pack.” He could HEAR her muscles tense. “You don’t have to join the pack to be part of the team, Farah.”

“…I am not ready to join a pack, Captain. Hadir, Alex…I want to adjust. But, possibly later. When I am…capable.”

“Let me know when. Farah, keep on the high road.”

“Same to you, captain. And…we bonded.” Price beamed, scent bursting with pride and happiness for her.

“Congratulations, Farah. I’ll send a nest warmer soon.”

“Thank you.” Farah hung up, and Price texted Nikolai the details first, then Ghost and Gaz in a group text (silently hoping they’d text each other to get to know one another before they meet to pack bond). And Nik sent him a list of items: mostly nest related, though a few essentials like eggs and potatoes. Sounds like Piroschki and scones were on the menu. With vodka and bourbon: Price’s favorite alcohol. He wondered if that’s why Ghost was fond of ordering that at the bar. He got home to Nikolai nesting. He took in the small burrow in the corner, a half-bare hammock that explained the new nesting materials, and the founding blanket of a den in amusem*nt as he sang in Russian.

“You’re having fun, Nik.” Nikolai grinned, gesturing around.

“We have to have rule everyone nests. I just don’t know their preference!”

“How do I help? Because I don’t know anything about nests except ours.”

“Scenting! They know you, and trust you. Absolute key to nest: trust and comfort.” Price nodded, setting to work as Nikolai finished. They still seemed….bare to Price, but he didn’t ask why. He didn’t need to: once Nikolai finished cleaning them up, he said clearly, “Not perfect, but they have to bring their own: pack nests are group effort: they grow overtime.” Price pulled out a cigar, gesturing to the den. Nikolai curled next to him in an instant, both of them content this was the best they could do.

2019, December 13^th: Ghost checked his messages. Yup, this was the place. His heat was still greatly uncomfortable, but he got it addressed. Just had to wait for the pain to pass. ‘Gaz’ had sent him a short biography of his situation. Beta, SAS

interrogation and covert ops expert, joined up to help people. Highly sensitive nose and used a lot of scent blocker, preferring the wax type since it didn’t block everything so he could still hunt. At the end was something that made even Ghost’s closed off emotions flutter. “You don’t have to talk to me, just know that if Captain Price wants you in the pack, you’re in my pack.” The boundary respect was not something Ghost was used to from anyone but Price and Nik, so he sent a short message back.

“Ghost. SAS espionage and sniper. Omega. It’s not personal, but I’ll try to open up to the pack. Thanks.” He hesitated at the door. He’d only met Nikolai once or twice, during those intense heats that he’d come to Price to silently beg for something to make the pain stop. Nikolai had been there, helping and explaining while Price provided the grounding that he needed both times. According to the doc he went to after the first time, the pain was from physical trauma: nothing would ever make the pain actually stop forever. Just enough to get through the heats. He winced as the pain spiked again, hesitation growing even stronger. Was this a bad idea? This was a bad idea. But he couldn’t leave. He strangled the whine before it got out, frozen in front of the door. The scent of moss hit him like a truck, and he hung his head. He was acting like a baby. He knocked before his brain could panic again, and the door opened. He looked at Price. The apartment was a mixture of moss, cocoa and pepper, and blankets were everywhere.

“Come on in, Ghost. Nik, you remember Ghost?” The omega put Ghost at ease, the curry-smelling peppers mixing well with his very…unique personality. Nik opened his arms with a smile-and Ghost plowed into him, Price hugging over both of them as Ghost desperately scented himself, before he could freeze up all over again. He wanted this so badly. He NEEDED this.

“You want to do this now?” Ghost nodded into Nikolai’s shoulder.

“’Fore it goes to weeds.” Price muttered at Nikolai’s confusion,

“Ends badly. This’ll hurt, and we have to renew our scents every two months: 3 at minimum or it’ll hurt again.” Ghost nodded.

“Got it.” Ghost winced as Price’s teeth sunk into his shoulder, the first spot he’d ever touched, just below his scent gland and on his SAS tattoo. He actually yelped in pain when Nikolai bit the same spot, Price gripping his hand tightly to help ease the sudden pain and rush of hormones that quickly settled. “f*cker, that hurt. Thought alphas had sharper teeth.” Nikolai chuckled, grabbing a bandage as blood trickled from the new pack mark, Price explaining casually, opening his jaws to show it,

“I wear teeth guards off duty: keep the teeth from going too deep.”

“He likes biting, do he?” Price flushed, Nikolai nodding unabashed as Ghost chuckled. He looked around, trying to find a comfy spot to stop his spinning head. He settled on the hammock nest, sitting cross legged as he watched his leaders-he preened

slightly at the thought of Price being his official leader-started messing around in the kitchen. Nikolai was cooking, but Price was doing dishes and organizing. “When’s Gaz getting here?”

“Soon: paperwork caught him.” Ghost nodded, continuing to watch. Traditional alpha/omega pair. Except there wasn’t any aggression between them. Just playful taunts and gentle requests. No barked orders, no flinching. It threw Ghost off: how unusual their pairing was. Though Price was quick to correct it was a HEALTHY pairing: not unusual at all. Which made Ghost question his understanding of societal norms. The door was knocked on, and Ghost stared, Nikolai answering it.

“Gaz!”

“Nikolai.” Clay. Yup: definitely a beta. Only they had the normal scents. Daily smells everyone knew but didn’t think about. Gaz locked onto Ghost first, then shifted to see Price. “Cap.” He was quiet, but joined in with the conversation easily enough, settling a few feet from Ghost on a burrowing nest. “You Ghost?”

“You Gaz?” He nodded.

“Price?” Ghost nodded. “Me, too. Follow him to the pits of hell?”

“So long as I don’t get skull-f*cked, sure.” Gaz chuckled softly.

“Want to hear a story?”

“Why not?” Gaz told him all about the last month. Ghost couldn’t say he was surprised by Price’s actions, though was very impressed by Gaz’ composure during the more…emotionally straining parts. “Good work. Not many people can deal with that.”

“Thanks. Speaking from experience?” Ghost nodded.

“Seen some things.” He stayed vague, but Gaz didn’t press. “First time I met Price; I was joining SAS. Damn tough, but means well. Gave me his number if I needed anything. Met Nikolai during a…time.” Gaz nodded. “Helped a lot. Guess we’re a pack now.” Gaz nodded, looking Ghost over from the ground. “What?”

“Where’s your pack mark? I can smell it, but…” Ghost revealed his shoulder. “Ah. Mind if I get the same spot?” He nodded.

“Only if I bite back.” Gaz chuckled warmly.

“Any boundaries?”

“I won’t f*ck you. Not my cup of tea.”

“I’m ace: not interested unless you need it.” Ghost nodded in recognition.

“Not a big fan of fighting with family, play or no. And don’t touch the neck. I bite.” Gaz nodded. “You?”

“Don’t f*ck me, don’t think I won’t fight back, and don’t talk sh*t for real.”

“Got it.”

“Ey, cap, Nikolai. Mind if we get the mark over with? I’ll be out of it for ‘bout an hour.”

“You’ll have to bite each other. Are you ready for that?” Both of them nodded. Gaz was the gentlest bite: Ghost barely felt it. The opposite was true for Gaz: he was in tears after Ghost let go, Ghost looking away as Price scolded him gently.

“It’s not a fight: you’re just marking him!” He defended hotly,

“I’d never done it before! Sorry, Gaz.”

“It’s fine. It’ll fade in a bit.” Ghost wrapped it himself, bopping noses with his new sibling in a deeper apology. They ended up sleeping in a massive pile in the den nest, Ghost towards the exit with Price and Nikolai wrapped around Gaz, Price’s hand resting on Ghost’s chest and Nikolai’s own on Ghost’s leg. Ghost appreciated the contact as well as the distance. He’d figure out the rest of the situation later. For now, he was just grateful they were there.

2019, Dec 14^th: “Hey.” Gaz groggily looked around, still waking up from possibly the deepest sleep he’d ever gotten-and jumped at the skull mask staring at him from across the room. Right, Ghost. He’d been wearing a skull mask all day yesterday, and Gaz had fallen asleep with him still wearing it wide awake.

“…you sleep?”

“A bit. Neck hurt?”

“Bit.” Gaz admitted, rubbing it to relieve the stiffness from the bite. “You good?” He looked out of the window.

“…Thinking if I can trust this or not.” Gaz frowned, sitting up.

“You bonded without knowing if you can trust us?” Ghost shook his head.

“Not you lot. This.” That explained nothing. “Price trusts you, I trust you. His judgement hasn’t hurt me yet.” YET? So, Ghost had trust issues. “…People get close to me, they die, or worse.”

“Worse?” Gaz asked simply.

“Torture.” Oh. Gaz watched the man continue to stare off into the distance. “…I don’t know how to do this.”

“Hmm. I’m deciding to be fine until the weekends, save some lives, then do it again next week.” Ghost laughed, a deep, barking sound that somehow perfectly matched his skull mask.

“Then I’ll follow your lead on that, Gaz.” He caught a whiff of pepper: Nik was up this whole time? The Russian took in the situation from the kitchen, Ghost staring outside, eyes darkened with thoughts Gaz couldn’t begin to imagine, and nodded.

“I’m proud. Of you both.” Gaz and Ghost both looked at him in confusion, but the Russian offered no more context. Gaz was not oblivious to a 2^nd scent now coming off of Ghost: anise. So lilac and anise. Odd that his second scent wasn’t noticeable even to Gaz at first. They sat in their separate parts of the house for a while as the smell of cooking potatoes filled the air. Then they all turned to face the grunting form of Price.

“Damn, my back…remind me to sleep on one of the mats next time.” Next time. Even Gaz preened at the thought of there being a confirmed next time: he couldn’t imagine what the feelings of Ghost were as his eyes seemed to spark brightly. “What’s for breakfast, Nik?”

“Draniki!” Price naturally joined Nik in the kitchen, Gaz watching them speak fluent Russian again.

“How you boys feeling?”

“Good, cap.” Gaz said casually, smiling softly. Ghost was quiet for a bit.

“…Think I’m happy.” THINK?

“I’ll take it, Simon.”

“Ghost.” He corrected, anise gone and a tenseness entering his shoulders.

“Right, sorry, Ghost. That’ll take a bit.” Gaz asked,

“You’re not sure?” Ghost shrugged-SHRUGGED??

“Feel safe here. Even if it’s f*cking quiet as sh*t.” Price beamed. Scratch Gaz thinking Ghost was just cold. He was awkward and unaware of his own feelings towards things. Standoffish was the right word: he just didn’t know what to trust and what to do.

2019, December 24^th: Price frowned, looking at the clock Gaz kept glancing at. “What’s wrong?”

“What did you send to the chat again?” Price pulled out his phone.

“Open invite, come for Christmas party at apartment if available. Ghost said he’d be here about 2 hours after I sent it, no contact since.” Gaz nodded in acceptance, but it was still clearly bothering him. “Gaz, Ghost had a really rough year: he may not have the ability to come. I just managed to get him to start seeing a therapist again.”

“Again?” Gaz echoed, frowning. Price shrugged.

“Don’t know the details, but he said the last one got killed.” Gaz’s brows raised, but he didn’t press. Not that Price would have answers even if he did. Ghost didn’t show up. Gaz was a little hurt, but not surprised.

Chapter 32: 2020

Chapter Text

2020, March 7^th: Price kept Kate between him and Nik, Nikolai on high alert as she explained, “City’s under evacuation. AQ’s got complete control.” Nik muttered,

“It was nice once.” Price glanced at him, his husband elaborating, “East and West rebuilt Verdansk after Cold War.”

“AQ didn’t like that.”

“Many Americans don’t like that now.”

“Now they’ve got armor, heavy weapons.” Kate looked exhausted.

“Terrorists with tanks.” Price finished flatly. “Who’s at the helm?”

“He’s new, the man I mentioned in December. Zakhaev. He’s got friends in high places.” Nikolai paused, frowning. Price finished his thought for him, saying flatly,

“This is Russian intel.” Kate nodded.

“America and Russia are cooperating again. My counterpart in Moscow gave us the intel.”

“CIA working with FSB?” Nikolai hissed, Price grabbing his hand as a man called,

“Not the first time.”

“Kamarov.” He said tersely.

“Captain Price. Nikolai. You’ve been bad.” Nikolai glared up the man even as his hands shook.

“From you, that’s a compliment.”

“We’re all friends here.” No, they weren’t. If Nikolai didn’t like him, Price didn’t like him. “I owed you for Beirut.” Kate took over.

“Sargeant Kamarov is going to help conduct the operation.”

“These weapons allow Al-Qatala the power to turn acts of terror into acts of war. This is a problem, for everyone.”

“This is a multi-lateral force to hunt AQ’s new leader and contain this threat while we still can.” Price glanced at Nik, who gave a slight nod. He then nodded firmly.

“Okay, we’re in. Start up your teams: let’s operate.” He called Ghost as Kate started rounding up her own forces.

“Price.”

“Ghost, you up for a mission?”

“Always.”

“I need someone I can trust in Verdansk: I trust you.” He heard quiet for a bit, then a soft,

“Get me a ticket and I’ll be there.”

2020, March 27^th: Ghost tapped comms as he checked over the body. “Price, something’s wrong.”

“Ghost.”

“Armistice is killing their own. I need fighters I can trust. Ghost out.”

“Copy, I’ll work on it.” Ghost had been studying everything, but he had no clue what was going on, only that a russian was trailing him: black mask covering his face, snow and salt scent. But as often he was trailing him, he was fading into the shadows. It was maddening.

2020, April 2^nd: Ghost scampered along farther in, watching everything he could. “Si-Ghost.”

“Price.”

“Can you talk?”

“Listen.” He whispered, checking his corners warily.

“Zakhaev’s plan’s working. Armistice fell through. It’s bloody chaos.” Price was telling him?

“Bones still break?” He mumbled, shuffling up the ladder as fast as he could.

“I’ve got a few blokes inbound hot to your position.”

“Better be good, Price.” Ghost didn’t trust easily, but if it was Price sending them, he would trust a little easier.

“They are.” Ghost watched one of the targets hit the ground, stabbing the second as he looked up at a sniper waving.

“Echo 3-1, reporting.” American. f*cking American-Echo 3-1?

“Alex? You were KIA.”

“Price and Laswell made me disappear so I can stay with Farah.”

“Ready for a gunfight?”

“Always, sir.”

2020, June 13^th: “Verdansk was ground zero in the Cold War: MacMillian briefed me on some of the missions he’d gone on here. This is Victor Zakhaev. He pulled strings to turn the Armistice back on each other. Kate says there’s a nuke somewhere here, and Zakhaev plans to use it. World’s already a bloody powder keg, and he lit the fuse.”

“Let’s get it done, sir.” Gaz stated flatly, knowing Price was stressed out. People were dying, and almost their entire pack and friends were in this mess of a mission.

2020, September 3^rd: Farah listened as Nikolai talked softly. His voice was strangely comforting despite the occasional Russian setting her instincts on fire. “Can you turn the metro system back on?”

“In time.”

“You have 3 hostiles coming your way.”

“Then keep them out, pazhalusta. I need time.” Farah whistled, throwing her knife into the man who turned. She retrieved her knife and killed the man who shot at her. Then set fire to the third and slit his throat.

“Enemies down.”

“Spase Bogh. Almost done. There.” The metro came on, Nikolai coming out with a flourished bow. Farah smiled lightly.

“Good work.”

“Same to you. Say hello to Price.”

“Stay. Help us go after Zakhaev.” Nikolai’s eyes hardened, the softness gone.

“I’d rather kill him.” She shrugged, tossing him a gun that he caught easily.

“Good. You’ll need this.” He smiled, seemingly natural with the gun.

“Actual, I’m with Nikolai. We’re on.”

“Nik? Oh, f*ck…” Price sighed. Farah raised an eyebrow.

“There a problem?”

“No, just…going to get very messy. Nikolai’s technically a civilian.”

“Then do not say I’m here.” He teased lightly, smiling. He added softly, “I know Russian bothers you. I’m sorry.”

“It is your home. I do not begrudge you that.”

2020, December 10^th: “What do you mean, pull out? They’re launching an ICBM!” Price snapped angrily as Nikolai grabbed his hand. Ghost and Gaz were listening, both scents seemingly fighting to see which would take over.

“Exactly what I said, John. The launch is going to be stopped any second-”

“Watcher-1, this is Scarecrow on site. The launch has been halted. Thank your friends for their assistance, but the professionals have it from here.” Price snapped into the comms,

“And Zakhaev?”

“Zakhaev is confirmed KIA.” Price and Nikolai froze, looking puzzled. “Again, Zakhaev is confirmed KIA: we have the body in tow. You Brits can go home. Take a breather. You all deserve it.” Ghost asked,

“You know that voice?”

“Yeah, we’ve heard it before.” Price stated, puzzled expression deepening.

“It cannot be him. Probably just similar voices: we would know if it was Merrick.”

“Merrick?” Gaz asked. Price waved him off.

“One of Keegan’s mates: only heard him over phone before. Nik’s right: probably just similar tones.”

Chapter 33: 2020, Christmas

Chapter Text

2020, December 24^th: Price straightened his sweater, knocking on the door. Terri threw it open.

“John! You made it-oh, who are all these guys?” Price cleared his throat.

“This is Gaz, Alex, Farah, and you know Nikolai. There may be a 6^th person, but, uh, he’s not one for the holidays.”

“Welcome, come on in! I know that I have your presents, John-your gran sent Nikolai one, too-and I have Keegan’s, too-he’s not getting here until tomorrow morning, something about paperwork-um…I got one for a ‘Kyle’?” Gaz raised his hand.

“That’s me, ma’am.”

“Of course. But I just have some white elephant gifts for you guys. I’m sorry in advance.”

“That’s alright, ma’am. I don’t, uh, usually celebrate Christmas.” Alex eased. Farah shifted.

“I have not celebrated it in years myself: any gift is a gift. And I…have made these for you all.” Everyone took the poorly knitted sweaters for Farah, Alex, and one she put to the side for Ghost; 2 scarves for Gaz and Price; and 3 pairs of mittens for Nik, Terri, and Kate. “They are not very-” Nikolai exclaimed excitedly,

“These are great, Farah!” She smiled shyly.

“Anya is teaching me to knit. It has been slow.” Gaz chuckled, holding up some boxes.

“I, uh, also made some presents.” Terri helped him put them under the tree, Price doing the same with his own small boxes as Nikolai set very suspiciously shaped gifts there as well: 7 of them. Price teased,

“Where’s my gift, Nik?” He smirked back.

“Do you really want to unwrap me in front of our kids and friends?” Price choked, Gaz decidedly looking at the ground as he tried not to lose it while Farah and Alex just snorted. Terri bit her lips, trying not to laugh while Kate guided the red Price to a seat. They talked for hours, catching up, explaining stories, Kate begging Terri not to tell anyone about their 3^rd year in college. It was almost midnight when Gaz heard something outside, glancing towards the window. Odd. Farah and Price had glanced to. Then the kitchen window opened. Price and Kate had guns aimed-right at a blood covered Ghost, whose hands were shaking desperately. “Ghost?!”

“Am I late? I’m late, aren’t I?” Price put his gun away, Ghost’s eyes wide and half-wild, head slowly turning to take in a blinking rapidly Terri. Kate said softly,

“Terri, this is Ghost. He’s the 6^th person. I’m surprised you showed up, I thought you didn’t like the holidays.”

“Um, shouldn’t we be asking why he’s covered in blood, babe?” Gaz nodded. Ghost said forcibly,

“I’m fine.” Nikolai raised an eyebrow, saying softly,

“Are you?” Ghost hesitated, then shook his head.

“…Got jumped. Alpha f*cker thought she’d sell me.” What about Ghost made him seem the type to get kidnapped?! “She’s dead.” Terri nodded: confused, and startled.

“Um, do you need a shower?” He nodded stiffly. “Okay, I’ll show you where that is.”

“Did you hide the body?” Nikolai asked softly. Ghost nodded. “I’ll take care of it. Mate?”

“Coming.” Gaz looked at Farah and Alex. Both looked puzzled.

“So I’m not the only one lost.”

“You…don’t know?” Gaz shook his head.

“No clue. Price said he had a rough year last year and didn’t do holidays.”

“He seemed solid in Verdansk.” Alex offered. “Granted, that was a warzone.” Gaz shook his head.

“He’s solid as stone.” Ghost came back with a new mask without a skull pattern, a knitted sweater from Farah that Gaz could just make out a maze of scarring underneath, and a pair of pants that were a bit too big. Holy sh*t, what did Ghost go through to do all that? Terri smiled at him.

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah. Sorry, didn’t want to get blood everywhere. I didn’t want to be late, I-I got held up.”

“You were almost taken. You are fine to be late.” Farah said easily. Ghost crouched by the tree, putting a bundle of small gifts underneath the tree.

“Still.” He mumbled, sitting on the ground with a huff.

“We’re not going to nag you. Have you eaten?” Terri offered after Alex asked,

“They’ve got leftovers: I can heat some up.” Ghost shook his head.

“Not hungry. Uh, do you have tea?” Gaz was up at Terri’s nod.

“Who wants some?” Everyone there raised their hand, and Gaz pulled out two more mugs for Price and Nik when they got back.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to send it all to weeds.” Farah and Alex frowned.

“No worries, mate. We just want to make sure you’re solid. Are you?” He nodded.

“Had worse. Just…she tried to mark me and went a bit cracked.” Alex leaned over to Farah.

“Uh, what?” Gaz explained to the puzzled people,

“Lost his head for a bit.” Ghost added,

“Um, nice to meet you, Terri. Kate’s mentioned you a few times.” Terri laughed.

“Hell of a first impression, but I have had worse. First time I met Ajax, my best friend’s mate, he’d just finished a charity boxing match: bloodied to high heaven and the opponents were worse. I was terrified.” Gaz handed out the tea. “So let’s drink some tea and watch a film. Sound good to everyone?” Various sounds of agreement sounded, and she turned on Frosty the Snowman as Ghost leaned against Gaz slightly, him glancing over to the masked man.

“…Thanks.”

“I’m with you. Happy Christmas.” Ghost tensed slightly, then nodded.

“…Happy Christmas.” Nik and Price got back with a smile, no one daring to ask what the hell they did with the body. Other than lightly tapping Ghost on the shoulder and thanking Gaz for helping him out, no one made another comment about Ghost’s sudden appearance, just settling in with tea and a nice holiday movie.

2020, December 25^th: Alex snuck into the kitchen holding his carry on, carefully setting out the dry mix, chocolate chips, and some ginger-He jumped as he heard a low growl, facing the direction instantly. It was Ghost, brown eyes reflecting the light like a cat eye’s would. “…Hi. Um…I’m making cookies?” He blinked, aggressive stance fading.

“…This early?”

“I, uh, wanted them to be warm come morning. I’m not the craftiest person, but I do like baking, so here I am. You…have issues with chocolate chips?” Ghost shook his head slowly.

“Just…jumpy. Christmas doesn’t have…fond memories for me.” Alex nodded.

“I, uh, was a foster kid. Didn’t really have many Christmases. Joined the military to get out of the system before it broke me.”

“…no foster care here. My…family was killed. 4 years ago, today. Break-in. My fault.”

“Oh. That…sucks.” Alex half-chuckled nervously. His wild eyes were not making Alex feel very safe. “Have you slept any?”

“No.” The reply was instant.

“Do you plan on-”

“No.” Ah. He was guarding. Alex nodded: he now understood what Ghost’s brain was telling him to do. He finished laying everything out for the cookies under Ghost’s gaze.

“Want me to explain my artistic process?”

“If you want.” Alex explained each step as Ghost watched him from across the room. Quietly, so it wouldn’t wake anyone, and Ghost would sometimes break his gaze to check on something that had made a sound or watch the windows, but he seemed to be slowly relaxing, calming himself down at the lack of tragedy. At 5:30 in the morning, Terri was in the shower, singing. At 5:45, They heard something moving around in their bedroom: likely Kate. At 6 in the morning, on the dot as Alex removed the cookies from the pan and setting them on a plate, the doorbell rang. Ghost instantly was high-alert, Alex frowning as Terri was out of the bathroom, dressed in a bathrobe and hair towel, at the door in a second without noticing them. Alex watched Ghost stare at the doorway while Terri called,

“You said early, not EARLY-early. You’re lucky I’m awake.”

“You always wake up at 0505, girlie, and the lady’s up at 0543. f*ck…”

“Need a shower again?”

“Yeah.” The stranger gave a sharp inhale, Alex watching another masked man enter the house with a strange pattern on his baclava. Almost like a wraith mixed with a skull: it was bizarre. The man paused, staring at Alex, who was still holding the half-removed tray of cookies. Terri yelped as she turned the corner towards the hallway and ran right into Ghost.

“Ghost! f*ck, you’re quiet!” She shook her head, Ghost staring at the stranger with eyes harder than diamond. Alex asked,

“Who’s he?” The man didn’t look at Ghost, blue eyes piercing into Alex at an intensity that rivaled Ghost’s own with none of the friendly recognition or care Ghost had shown.

“Keegan Russ at your service. You?”

“I’m Alex: that’s Ghost. We’re, uh, friends of Price?”

“Oh? How’s the guy doing, still red as a berry?” Alex pressed,

“How do you know Price?”

“We were best men at the girls’ wedding. Me Terri’s, him Kate’s. How’d you meet?”

“I knew Kate: she got Price involved with one of our missions.”

“CIA?” Keegan questioned.

“ULF now.”

“Hmm. Navy man myself. And your friend there?” Keegan still hadn’t looked at Ghost.

“SAS specialist.” Keegan raised an eyebrow.

“What kind-OW, f*ck!” He yelped, grabbing his leg and arm, hopping around in a circle as he cursed. “Damn Kick and-sh*t!”

“Are you okay? I thought you were doing paperwork??” Terri questioned, getting Keegan to a seat.

“I-f*cking sh*t-was! My squad decided to move in together, so someone had to move all the sh*tty weights Merrick, Grim and I had, then Kick couldn’t lift his freaking couch-DAMN!”

“Keegan? That you?” Kate came out wearing t-shirt and sweatpants, frowning at him. “Do you have a frog?”

“4, yeah.” He wheezed out, wincing. She handed him a bottle of ibuprofen, and he took 3, groaning. “I’ll be alright, lady.”

“Alright? No one uses that term to describe you on a good day. Go take a shower and stay quiet. Ghost, you solid?” He nodded firmly, looking Keegan over as he slunk into the bathroom. He then stated flatly,

“2-week bullet wound, left shoulder.”

“He is a navy man: I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s been shot dozens of times.” Terri dismissed easily. Ghost continued watching the bathroom door as the water started up. Kate said comfortingly,

“He’s safe, Ghost. I heavily vetted him before I even met him.” Ghost huffed, eyes raking over the door one more time before he turned back to Alex, who was finishing putting the cookies on the tray. “Wait, you made chocolate chip cookies?”

“Yeah: brought the ingredients myself. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Alex.” Kate grinned, knuckle bumping him fondly. “You boys going to stay the night again?”

“Keegan’s not. I swear, his boss and him will find a way to get him back out. He’s a workaholic something awful.” Terri sighed.

“Sounds like Ghost. Right, um, you may want to warn Farah: Keegan has a medical condition that makes him aggressive towards people who use an alpha tone.” Alex nodded.

“We’ve been working on it: she won’t use it here.” Ghost asked suddenly,

“Going blind?” Kate, Terri, and Alex all looked at him in confusion. He gestured to Nikolai’s gifts. “Going blind.”

“Rephrase: I don’t know what you mean.” Kate stated.

“Oh.” He thought for a bit. “Drunk?”

“Yeah, Nik didn’t say what he brought, but pretty sure it’s some type of booze.” Kate said easily. “Why don’t you take a seat? Relax.” Ghost hesitated, but sat down on the ground in a half crouch. Not exactly sitting, but Alex would take it. The water turned off, and a very long,

“Fu~uck.” sounded. Keegan came out in a tank top and shorts, revealing a large bandage on his shoulder, a few minor scars, and he was no longer wearing that baclava. He finally looked over Ghost. “Nice mask.”

“f*ck off.” Ghost stated flatly.

“How aggressive.” He rolled his eyes. “Terri, Kate, Alex-f*ck!” He gripped his leg again, swearing loudly. A clattering sounded from one of the other rooms, and Price bulldozed out in boxers with no shirt.

“What the-Keegan.” He sighed in annoyance as Keegan gave him a half-salute with a grin-only to swear again and grip his shoulder tightly. “Bullet?” Keegan collapsed onto the couch, body tensing and locking up as he groaned.

“Moving. Damn Merrick and Grim: we only needed one set.”

“And a bullet wound, you moppet.”

“I like Fozzie. And the bullet doesn’t hurt: it’s almost healed, anyways.”

“You moved with a bullet wound. They don’t heal overnight, genius. Nik, it’s alright, it’s just Keegan.”

“Da?” He peered out of the room with his gloves and shirt on. Keegan took him in.

“Damn, everyone I know is lucky as sh*t, even the big boy?”

“Don’t.” Price warned as Nik grinned.

“Da, right? Muscle lock?”

“Jaw lock?”

“KEEGS/BLOODY HELL!” Terri and Price exclaimed, Price a bright red. Nik laughed.

“Nyet, not yet.” Price turned red and entered the bedroom to escape as Kate snorted. “How hard?”

“Hard as you can get?” Keegan shrugged. Nik gestured him over, sitting on the chair. Keegan took a seat in front of him, and Nikolai started giving him a massage then and there.

“Da, you are tense. And I am happily taken.”

“I see the ring-Oh, that feels good, damn…”

“So I am only one who can fluster him, da?”

“That true-” Alex was flushing at the obscene sounds coming out of Keegan’s mouth.

“So stay quiet and watch, hmm?”

“Hmm…”

“Okay, I’m calling it. You’re making it sound weird, and making all of us uncomfortable.” Kate stated flatly.

“He’s got f*cking good hands, lady!” Keegan defended as Nikolai laughed. He half melted when Nik leaned in, adding more pressure to the massage. Alex could just make out Nik whisper right into Keegan’s ear,

“If you ever come onto my mate again, if I am there or not; I will skin you alive.” And stopped, Keegan groaning.

“Got it-you’ve got f*cking magic hands, you Russian prick…” He stretched out. “Anyways, thanks, Nikolai. Feel way better now. What was I asking…right! What’s your specialty, Ghost?”

“Sniping, infil, and combat.” He said stiffly. “You?”

“Oh, an all-rounder. Me? Also sniper and melee.” Alex asked,

“You don’t look the type. Like, Ghost is huge, but…”

“Exactly. No one expects it, but I’m pretty good. And what’s Mr. CIA turned ULF do?”

“Also sniper.” He didn’t add his espionage expertise: he didn’t need this guy to know everything. Keegan laughed.

“Look at us, bunch of snipers. So, quick rundown because I know I just showed up and Price doesn’t like me too much. I’m navy; been Terri’s BFF for 14 years; and my pack, and squad, consists of Elias, Merrick, Kick, Grim, Neptune, and Ajax, my mate. Elias is my commander, and yes, half of those are codenames. I have alpha defiance disorder, which means if I hear an alpha tone, I will respond aggressively in a feral state: I don’t want to, I just will. You have full rights to restrain me any way possible until I regain sentiency. I am a very proud omega, and will not tolerate sexist sh*t. Oh, and second biggest thing: I am from Florida, which is the mental equivalency of Scotland meets Cornwall according to Kate.”

“That’s f*cking terrifying.” Nikolai stated in disbelief. Keegan nodded with a grin.

“You got it.” Terri laughed. Price came out, Nikolai pulling him into his lap. They were speaking Russian: nothing too serious, just Nik explaining he addressed Keegan making him uncomfortable and Price apologizing for being easy to fluster.

“It’s sweet: no worries.” They were all having separate conversations (except Ghost and Alex, who just awkwardly watched the conversations) when Farah came out, looking so much better. Alex asked gently,

“You sleep?”

“Really well-who is that?”

“I’m Keegan, Terri’s friend.” He said casually. “You two mated?” Alex nodded as Farah did, too. “Damn it. Brits have all the luck.”

“I’m American.” Alex scoffed.

“Damn, so it’s just me.” Keegan jokingly lamented with a smile as Gaz came out. He just raised a hand to everyone.

“Morning, Gaz.” Price stated easily. “Ghost keep you up late?”

“Not on purpose.” Ghost mumbled as Gaz nodded with an eye roll.

“Check your staring, mate.” Gaz sighed, taking a seat. “Cookies?”

“I made some this morning. Ghost, uh, watched me.”

“Seriously?” Gaz bumped him lightly with a grin as Ghost evaded eye contact. Alex passed out the cookies while Price and Terri handed out the gifts. Ghost hesitantly took the green present, looking discomforted as Alex smiled as Nik gave him the red present. Farah thanked Terri for the blue one, Gaz nodding at the purple one from his parents. Terri added,

“There may have been a miscommunication on John’s part, so sorry in advance.”

“Miscommunication?” Price asked, puzzled as Farah opened the gift to find-

“A…doll?” Alex opened his and found a paddle ball, making him snort. “Price called us his kids, didn’t he?”

“He really should’ve clarified you were adults.” Terri laughed lightly. Ghost held his gift, eyes going distant. “G-Ghost?”

“Give him a sec.” Gaz said easily, opening his own from his parents first. “Dad.” He raised the collection of scent blockers and a very basic first aid kit with a grin. “My folks, everyone.” Price chuckled.

“Least you know they care.” Alex glanced at Ghost: he was still absent. “Alright, before we make a free for all, who goes first?”

“Gaz already started, so him.” Farah stated firmly.

“Throw me under the bus, then.” He mumbled softly, unwrapping Terri’s gift. “Hey, marbles. I used to play.”

“Mind if we do a game after gifts?” Gaz nodded at Alex’s question, opening Nik’s next. “Beer-the hell?” It was a beer bottle, but it had a carefully cut hole in it, and was filled with wax. Nik explained,

“A candle. It’s scent neutralizing.” Gaz smiled brightly.

“Thanks: appreciate it.” He opened Price, and found a sketch of- “My birth pack. How’d-”

“Facebook, Gaz.” Price answered readily. Gaz smiled, holding it gently.

“28 of us: pack got too big, so had to leave. I joined SAS. Thanks, cap.” Terri called,

“There’s one more, but it just says ‘Gaz’, in REALLY shaky handwriting.” Gaz took the small, more taped than wrapped present, with a frown, opening it-a mask? Alex frowned as Gaz scoffed, holding it up to see it more clearly. He turned it around: it had a stick figure falling out of a helicopter.

“Ghost?” The man jerked, looking up. “This yours?” He nodded as Nik said casually,

“You’ve fallen out of 3 in less than year.” Keegan snorted, Terri choking.

“…Fair enough. Thanks, mate.” Ghost nodded vacantly. “So we’re doing this youngest to oldest?”

“Actually. Ghost?” Ghost looked up again at Nik’s gentle voice. “How old are you?”

“…22.” Gaz turned to face him, horrified, Price choking so hard Nikolai had to give him the Heimlich.

“You’re younger than me?” Ghost shrugged.

“Apparently. It makes you feel better, I lied to join.”

“What?” Price asked, shocked. “Si-”

“GHOST.” He corrected with a harsh growl, Keegan’s eyebrow shooting up.

“Ghost, sorry-you’ve been serving for 6 years.”

“Yeah. I was 14: I lied. Said I was an alpha, too.”

“What the-no, I’m not-not the time or the place-I…you up to opening some presents?”

“…Okay.” Keegan hummed.

“Damn. I barely squeezed past as a 16-year-old: f*cking impressive.”

“Don’t encourage that.” Kate snapped as Ghost carefully unwrapped Gaz’s gift first, setting Terri’s to the side. It was a carved wooden bird. Ghost handled it with care, setting it to the side gently. Nik’s was next, with a bourbon bottle smelling like bourbon. Ghost asked gingerly,

“Can I…light it?” Kate fished out some matches.

“Go for it.” He did, the fire reflecting in his brown eyes almost achingly painfully. He set it to the side. Price had given him a blank canvas. He looked up in confusion.

“If you’re ever up to describing your family, I’ll draw them, any time.” Ghost stared blankly, then nodded, gently setting the canvas to the side. The final one was Terri’s, and he still hesitated before setting his shoulders square and unwrapping it.

“Again, I’m sorry, I really thought you were like 7 to 9-” Ghost finished unwrapping it, and stared at the toy plane. “G-Ghost?” He suddenly had tears pooling on his cheeks, standing up quickly.

“N-no, I’m-need a minute.” He left his gifts to the side as he disappeared into the office. Terri asked in distress,

“Did I upset him somehow?!”

“If you had, he’d have gotten angry. He’ll explain when he’s ready. I’m just proud he could make it.” Price said easily. “I’ll go next, unless Farah?” She laughed.

“You are just stalling, are you not?” He shrugged with a smile. “Alright. Gaz, thank you for the bird. Is there a reason for the birds?” He nodded.

“Birds migrate, but they’re still part of the flock.” Farah smiled.

“Thank you. Ghost got me-gave me a hijab with a matching mask.” She laughed softly. “How on earth…it’s perfect.” She set it to the side as she grabbed Nik’s. “Wine scented. Thank you, Nik. And-my brother.” Price sighed heavily as she shot him a look.

“Figured there’d be mixed feelings. He was a traitor, but he was still your brother. Think of it as him before Russia.”

“…Thank you. I…regret I missed him, despite him hurting my country so badly. Thank you, everyone. Alex?”

“Alright, alright. Carved bird-thanks, Gaz- and a mask that matches Farah’s. These are really good masks: solid stitching. Whiskey with-grass. Thanks, Nik: I’ve been missing good old cut grass of suburbia.” They both laughed lightly. “A sketch of Farah: thanks. And of course, the paddle ball. I will be messing with it until it breaks, just warning you.” Terri called,

“That’s good with me: have fun with it. Keegs next: he’s 3 years younger than me!”

“Hey, could you check my back, lady? I think I’ve got skid marks from the bus.” Terri laughed as Kate shook her head. “Dry shampoo-the flight passengers will appreciate that one, thanks. and a new Baclava. Mine was getting a bit frayed, appreciate the thought. And my parents-yes, knife sharpening kit.” He fist-bumped the air with a grin. His phone rang. “Keegan. M, seriously? I’m in the middle of-” His eyes went hard. “What. You said-sh*t.” Alex looked at him oddly: he seemed completely shaken, disturbed. “How recently?” He stood up and walked away to the bathroom. “Bastard. Clear it out, check on Neptune if he'll let you. Yeah, he’s a dick. What’s the damage look like?” He came out with his jacket on and the baclava in his hands. Alex noticed how hard he was gripping it as he chucked it in the trash, taking Kate’s gifted baclava instead. “f*ck. One sec.” He moved the phone to the other side, looking distressed. “Girlie, I gotta go: my squad just stepped into a sh*tshow.”

“Aren’t you on med leave?” Price asked in confusion.

“No such thing for me.” He stated flatly, pulling on the baclava. “Thanks for hosting me, sorry I gotta run so soon.”

“Kick Scarecrow’s ass: he’s enabling your workaholic attitude.” SCARECROW?

“Yeah.” Terri and Kate both frowned. “Enjoy Christmas, see ya’ll.” Alex glanced at Price, who was looking at Nik, who was actively shrugging. Kate took a deep breath as Terri followed Keegan to the door.

“Yes, his team killed Zakhaev. You don’t know that, understand?”

“Keegs is black ops?”

“Void: they don’t exist.” Kate said firmly. Price and Nik nodded.

“Got it. We know nothing.” Terri came back with a sad pout.

“He said he’ll call when they have their party. I hardly ever see him, Kate.”

“I know, hon. I’m sorry. It’s your turn to open gifts, though.” She nodded firmly, taking a deep breath, and smiled.

“It’s Christmas, I saw my best friend, and am spending time with my friends: it is a good day! A carved bird-aw, you think I’m part of your flock?” Gaz nodded with a smile. “A mask from Ghost: it has a bunch of plants! Even my favorite: poison oak!”

“Is that why he asked me about Terri’s hobbies?” Kate laughed. Price shrugged.

“I didn’t even know he asked.”

“Vodka with buttercream? I don’t even like sweets.”

“Da, but it kind of smells like Kate.” He offered with a smile.

“True. I’m keeping it. A sketch of Kate-with her hair down? Thanks, John.”

“It took hours to convince her to put her hair down: savor that.” Kate covered the present before Terri could unwrap it.

“I’d, uh, much rather you open that in our room. There are children present.” Alex whistled as Gaz started laughing loudly, Farah smiling knowingly. Terri gave her wife the side eye as she set it down.

“Only if you don’t open mine. For the children.” Price was evading eye contact as Farah and Nik both snorted as Kate turned a pinkish tone, setting Terri’s gift on top of her own. “Now, John-”

“Nik’s younger: 6 months.” He cut off with a grin. Nikolai said teasingly,

“You have to get off lap for me to open presents.”

“R-right.” Gaz was still laughing quietly as Price shuffled to his feet and Nikolai just slid to the floor, forcing Price to shift to the couch with an eye roll.

“Pepper spray?” Nik shook his head, showing the neon orange can. “Appropriate, ‘mate’. And your babushka sent family album with your pictures.” Price panic-squeaked, trying to grab it from Nik as he laughed bodily. “Gaz, read it, read it!”

“On it.” Gaz caught the book, Nikolai pinning Price’s ankle as everyone started laughing.

“Gaz, no!” Price half-begged, half-commanded. He did so anyways for about 30 minutes, showing the images with a sh*t-eating grin the entire time, Nikolai teasing,

“Should have opened presents first, da? Okay, I think he has reddened enough.”

“Yes. We will revisit that punk phase, though.” Price groaned at Farah’s half-taunt, Nikolai smiling at Gaz’s bird carving and looking at Ghost’s mask with a sad grin.

“Freedom’s fire burns bright. My grandfather’s favorite saying.” He tucked it away, raising an eyebrow at Price.

“Alright, alright. Thanks, Gaz-wait a tick.” He lifted Nikolai’s, frowning. “This is the same wood.”

“Did that with Kate and Terri’s, too. Matching set.” Price slapped his shoulder fondly with a grin.

“Ghost made me a mask, too. Paint palette pattern-these are hand-stitched.” Gaz, Terri, and Farah touched theirs.

“Holy sh*t. I thought they were printed…” Gaz breathed.

“Every day, he surprises me. Vodka with…wood? Sandalwood. Nice. And my gran sent a book of Russian idiom. Aunt Holly gave a gun cleaning kit: fancy one. Kate?”

“Okay. Thank you, Gaz. I see I got the knot.” He said instantly,

“That was not purposeful.”

“Sure, Sargeant. Mask with a rolling pin. How did he know I liked cooking?” Nik raised a hand.

“He asked me. Ghost is not that much of stalker. More starer.”

“Wine with lavender, one of my favorites. Terri-with her hair curled, like it was on our wedding day.”

“Took weeks to get her to do it again. WEEKS, Kate.”

“And Terri’s gift will get opened tonight with mine.”

“Uh, what do I do with…this doll? I want to enjoy it, but I have never had a doll before.” Terri and Kate set to work helping her, Gaz and Alex playing a very competitive game of marbles while Nik and Price quietly looked through the photo album. It was 2 hours later when a door opened, Price and Kate both pausing. Ghost was in the hallway, hands in his pockets.

“…Sorry.” He trudged back to his small pile of gifts, quiet for a bit before he blurted out, “I got my nephew a plane for Christmas. Just like that one. Joseph wanted to be a pilot.” Joseph: that was a nice name for a kid. Wait, but Ghost said his family was-OH.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. Do you want something-” The resounding,

“No.” was said instantly as he touched the plane lovingly. “…I like it.” They ended up watching a few more movies, eating popcorn, and Kate cooked dinner (Alex was pretty sure he saw Ghost sneaking some spices into the potatoes, but he wasn’t positive until at dinner when Kate shot him a dirty look when she took a bite of her mashed potatoes). They also ended up staying the night, Ghost laying on the couch as his eyes slowly closed. Alex nodded in approval: he’d looked exhausted all day. He then went to bed with Farah, both of them putting on music as they heard rather loud creaking from Terri and Kate, as well as Price and Nik’s, bedrooms. They may all be adults, but Alex did not want to hear any of that.

Chapter 34: 2021, January

Chapter Text

2021, January 2^nd: Horangi looked around warily as they touched down. Mexico. He was the best English speaker of the group, but Spanish was a whole different story: none of them knew Spanish: it was never something he’d even encountered personally. One of them came forward: medals implied he was high up, disrepair said he was usually under fire. And 100% an omega, if larger than most. Basil, lavender. Kept watching his team warily, on high alert.

“Hola! Welcome to Las Almas. Colonel Alejandro Vargas.” He nodded, not taking the hand as his soldiers snigg*red at an OMEGA leading. Alejandro let his hand drop down as Horangi gestured to his crew,

“I’m Horangi. I heard you boys had some visitors from our side of the water.” Alejandro nodded, gesturing them to follow.

“We don’t know if they were Korean or not. We don’t, uh, often hear your language here.”

“Heard there was a good bust a month ago.” Alejandro’s expression soured.

“Si, Si. Kate Laswell suggested I reach out to you: apparently your team has experience with drugs deals?”

“Eo, we do. We just keep it quieter than Mexico can.” He spoke to his team mates in Korean. “Keep alert, but this is their home, we do what they say unless immediate danger is present. At that point, listen to me.” He switched back to English as the mutinous whispers of frustration about having to listen to an omega’s orders came out. Nothing against his order: just about having to listen to Alejandro. Even a 2-month stint as a captain so far was enough to keep them from being disrespectful towards him. “Sorry for the communication barrier. We don’t often hear your own language. I’ll get them to talk, do not worry, my friend. Your base seems pretty bare.” Alejandro thought, then nodded with a tight smile.

“We’ve got problems, but do what we can. I’ll be coordinating, but here’s the one we managed to catch.” Horangi observed him. Not Korean. Thai. Good thing he could speak that. He asked,

“Mind if I talk to him privately? I’m very persuasive.” Alejandro nodded, watching the masked man close the door behind him-with no one in his own company or Los Vaqueros coming in with him. In 20 minutes, he came out with a whistle. “Eo. He’s Thai, but he works for the Korean mob. We’ll work co-op, but if things get…sticky, my team will just listen to me.” Alejandro nodded.

“Same with mine. We don’t trust alphas.” Good tip, because alphas didn’t trust you.

2021, January 4^th: Horangi laughed as he wiped off his hands. Alejandro looked at him in worry. “Are you injured?”

“No, no. I just get…excited easily. Are you a betting man?”

“Sometimes. Why?”

“What if we make this raid more interesting-”

“Horangi!” His second in command barked, crossing his arms as rapid Korean flooded out of his mouth in a very angry tone. “You promised no more money bets. You almost lost your life last time when that huge guy decked you, and that was an exchange for like, 2 million KRW!” Horangi considered this.

“What if it’s not money?”

“Kim.” He said in exasperation, but shrugged nonetheless.

“Eo. If your team can get more captured than mine, I will personally do the WAP in front of your entire regiment, Colonel.”

“KIM! They’re OMEGAS.” Kim shrugged as Alejandro blinked rapidly.

“Uh, what is…the WAP?” Horangi laughed, demonstrating a few moves. “Oh, Dios Mio. Uh, and if you get more captured?”

“You decide.” Alejandro shook his head.

“Well, I’m confident in my soldiers, so I’ll match your bet.” He called something in Spanish, likely being along the lines of ‘I better not have to dance, you assholes!’ He then said, “My second in command, Sargeant Major Rodolfo Parra. Rudy, this is Horangi and his team.” Small. Very small: at most 1.5 meters tall. Very alpha scent, though: Leather, gasoline, and hints of vanilla.

“Jal jasseoyo?” Horangi called easily, raising a hand as his squad again laughed at an omega being second in command. “Nice to meet you.” This ‘Rudy’ looked at him oddly, eyes going over his body warily. Horangi subtly hid his thumb behind his gloves when the gaze reached his hands. Rudy then said with a slight stutter, glancing at the others,

“N-nice to meet you, too.” Alejandro spared an odd glance at Rudy, but went forward with explaining the plan. Horangi co*cked his guns, smiling behind his mask. Alejandro kicked in the doors, announcing their presence, and Horangi was gone. He prowled deeper into the compound, evading all the enemies he could and slitting the throats of the one’s he couldn’t open as he beelined for the documents, the information. Information won wars. Information was EVERYTHING. He scanned, downloaded-Spanish: alpha. The knife went into the enemy’s throat, him grabbing what he could and shoving it into his uniform as he cracked his neck. Main objective accomplished. Let’s hunt. He ripped his knife out, leaping out of the doorway onto an enemy’s chest just before he fired into the room, shooting the man behind him then the man’s skull to the side, riding him down as he killed the next 3. He continued forward, reloading as needed as he checked each corner and room for his second in command.

“Kim, what the f*ck?!”

“I had things to do, Jin.” He said with a laugh, ripping open an enemies’ throat with his claws as he drove the knife into another’s gut and twisted: Jin shot him in the skull.

“Where are your guns-why are they holstered?!”

“No time to reload.”

“f*cking idiot-would it kill you to show caution for once so I don’t have to be worried sick for you all the time?!”

“Most likely, honestly. My luck hasn’t run out in battle yet!” He joked, tapping Jin’s back as he heard the footsteps of what he not so fondly called a Jug approaching. Jin dropped to the ground as the mini-gun turned the corner, Horangi going low and charging forward. 4 stab wounds: both knees; the liver and a lung where the knives stayed, claws digging into his temples as the minigun dropped. “See?”

“Lunatic!” Jin spat with venom as Horangi yanked out the knives. “The bet is going good: we have 5, they have 5.”

“All clear: the enemy scattered, and burned their files. Horangi.” Horangi came out with a grin behind his mask. “Any luck?”

“Eo, plenty. Here: a gift for…Laswell, you said? Never hurts to have friends.” Alejandro nodded-his eyes widened as he saw the huge chunks of wrinkled papers and 2 cameras of information.

“How on earth did you manage this?”

“Information is my specialty, my friend, regardless of how I get it.”

“We’ll talk back at base. Los Vaqueros, vamanos!” Horangi raised a finger, circling the air as his squad grouped up again.

“Good work. Let’s get some rest and processing power, Eo?” He wished them all a nice rest up, and he sighed as he put his head against the window of the truck. f*ck, his country was behind in the times. Not even betas were allowed in their regiments yet, where every other country let them in as at least nurses.

“Tired, Captain?”

“No, just bored.” Not that he could let anyone know how he felt about the barrier for the ‘weaker sex.’ If he did, they could investigate him. And that…would not go well. He turned to look out the window. Mexico was a beautiful country: much drier than he would have liked, but still beautiful. He stiffened as he saw the walls. Razor wire. His claws dug into his arm as he tried not to remember the ragged edges cutting into his skin, the cruel laughter towards his struggling-

“Captain?”

“I hate razor wire.” Was his only statement as he shook his head. “Let’s see who won the bet, Eo?”

“You have a problem.” Jin laughed back, jumping out first as Horangi waved everyone to go to the barracks so he could talk to Alajandro-and Rudy now-alone, decidedly not looking towards the wall.

“Jin?”

“Got it, I’ll keep the animals under control!”

“You better.” He switched to English. “How did we do?”

“Well, my men got 5, and yours got 5, so I think our bet stopped itself.” Alejandro chuckled lightly.

“Good, good. The WAP is embarrassing as hell.”

“Chief Laswell is coming down to interrogate them herself in a few days. If your men will behave, you can do the same.”

“Hmm. Jin will keep an eye on them. Information is priority here. Cartel locations and personnel…any other specifics we’re looking for?” Alejandro’s answer was instant.

“El Sin Hombre.” Horangi stared through his mask. “He’s leader of a large group of cartels: any information on him is welcome.”

“El…could you repeat that?”

“El Sin Hombre.”

“El Sin Ombre?”

“Close enough.” Alejandro chuckled. “We don’t expect a location. He scares people beyond anything we can do.” Horangi hummed in curiosity. Rudy spoke, sounding more confident now.

“Also any deal locations, Mexico or otherwise. The drugs are poison for more than Mexico.”

“That include locations in the Federation?”

“If possible. We may not be allies, but we can let them know. Drugs are beyond war.” Rudy said firmly.

“Sounds personal.” Horangi muttered, reloading his guns now that he could breathe. Alejandro’s eyes narrowed. “No need to share: just an observation.” Alejandro glanced down, eyes narrowing on his hands that Horangi was once again hiding the thumb of. “Want to ask something.” It was a warning: Rudy and Alejandro both realizing as soon as Horangi pointed his feet towards them. Alejandro looked him over again, a painful understanding in his eyes as he said,

“…No, I understand your concerns.” Horangi nodded curtly.

“Then I’ll be with my men until this Laswell comes. I look forward to meeting another interrogator.” He turned on his heel and stalked away, face burning behind his mask. They KNEW. Years of hiding down the drain because of the f*cking Mexican omegas being observant as sh*t. But based on that look, neither of them would share that. Good: he didn’t want to kill good soldiers.

2021, January 6^th: Horangi heard the yelling as he entered the mess hall. One of his (210 cm) was screaming at an omega (160 cm). Looks like the omega (a wonsa, or whatever the Mexican equivalent was called) had accidentally tripped (or been purposely tripped: he wouldn’t put it past his team when it came to omegas) and got food all over his Sungsa’s uniform. Jin was yelling at the Korean man as Horangi got his food, saying genuinely, “Sorry: don’t take it personally.”

“Si, Si, pero…could you stop them?”

“Eo, I will. Thank you.” He glanced at Jin, who looked exasperated. Then his man drew a knife. Horangi was on his back, knife to his throat in a second. “Put it away, slowly.”

“They were-” Horangi pressed it closer.

“We are guests. Do not be rude. Slowly put it away.” His officer obeyed, scowling in fury. Horangi jumped off his back, waving. “I am so sorry for that: here.” He handed the tray he had gotten to the omega with a hidden smile. He then turned to the offending party. “Apologize. NOW.”

“It was the flipdick’s fault-” Horangi snarled,

“APOLOGIZE!” Making the man stiffen along with quite a few others in the mess hall. His officer bowed, stuttering out,

“I-I am sorry for threatening you.”

“Eo, good.” Horangi said with a smile. “Outside: I’ll meet you there shortly.” His officer obeyed miserably. “How often has Sungsa Yuki caused issues?”

“Every meal and every briefing. Where have you been, Horangi?”

“Decoding: they’ve been using Thai, and no one here can speak it, much less read it.” He turned to the omega who was still standing there, looking horrified. “Are you alright?”

“S-si, yes. Sorry.” They fled to a different table. Horangi crossed his arms as he looked at his squad.

“Anyone else want to insult or threaten our hosts?” They all shook their heads. “Good. Jin, we need to talk after this Laswell arrives. Some of this intel is…concerning.”

“Yes, sir.” Horangi turned on his heel and watched Yuki standing at attention in the courtyard, evading looking high enough to see the razor wire. He called, standing right in front of him and glaring up at his face,

“Do you understand what you have done?”

“I drew a weapon on a military ally, sir!” He scowled out.

“Which brought?”

“Shame to me, my captain, and my country, sir!”

“Because?”

“I was a guest in another military’s compound, and should respect their members, sir!”

“Due to what fact?”

“I am representing my country and our honor, sir!” Horangi nodded.

“Laps, now. I’ll tell you when to stop.” Yuki set to running, Horangi leaning against the wall and watching as he sharpened his knife, cleaned his guns, checked the horizon. Stable, secure. They picked a good spot for a base. Rudy came out and stood next to him. He gestured to Yuki.

“Is that the troublemaker?”

“Eo, it is. He’s been running for…4 hours now.” Horangi shouted in Korean, “Yuki! Hydrate!” He paused, drinking water, and then starting again. “Sorry for the trouble. Shame on his actions, pulling that on a host.” Horangi shook his head.

“4 hours? That’s a long run.” Rudy observed.

“6 and I’ll call it. Bastard used a slur on an ally that ranked higher than him. I don’t tolerate disrespect.”

“Hmm. Miss Laswell wants to meet you.”

“Ah. Watch him?” Rudy nodded in acceptance, Horangi calling in Korean, “Wonsa Parra is taking over your punishment: he will say when to stop, unless you want to keep running until I come back. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!” He nodded firmly, waving to Rudy as he entered the building.

Kate nodded to Alejandro: Rodolfo had gone to fetch the Korean captain. Evidently, there had been an issue in the mess hall and he was disciplining one of his soldiers for it. A small man came in: no more than 5’2’’, leather and wax scent. An alpha, there was no doubt in her mind about that by the sheer way he carried himself, but she couldn’t see his face because of a full facial covering of camouflage and sunglasses. “Jal jasseoyo? Alejandro, my apologies for the situation.”

“It was bound to happen: my men often have trauma and having alphas on base for so long.” He hummed noncommittedly, waving to Kate as she looked him over. Not a single inch of skin could be seen except for his fingers from his fingerless gloves.

“Who are you?”

“Horangi.” She raised a brow, and he elaborated, “Captain Kim Hung-Jin of the 13th Special Mission Brigade. I was requested to come by Colonel Vargas and my commander due to me and my team’s experience with the mafias and our military expertise.”

“Which would be?”

“Interrogation and intel retrieval.” He seemed to smile as she blinked once. She didn’t often judge based on appearance, but interrogation didn’t seem…quite right for such a small man. She brushed past it.

“Preferred method of interrogation?”

“Whichever way gets me the real information faster.” Okay, then. She now could see it was the right skill set.

“Then your skills will be helpful. Colonel Vargas, Captain Hung-jin.” He stiffened at the title, saying quickly,

“Horangi, please. I’m only called captain when I’m in trouble, Miss Laswell.” She nodded.

“Horangi, then. Let’s get some answers.” She pulled on gloves, Horangi definitely smiling behind his mask as Alejandro looked ticked. This would be…interesting.

2021, January 12^th: Kate sighed heavily, taking the water bottle Alejandro handed over. Horangi had gone into a separate room to get something to drink himself. Evidently, he had some really bad facial scarring he wasn’t fond of showing off, but when Kate had asked his squad, she had gotten 7 different answers about what had caused it, ranging from a horrific childhood accident to a brutal assault from a jealous mate after he hit on some omega before he joined. The only thing the stories all had in common was he hadn’t shown his face to anyone since joining the military except for his recruitment officer and direct commander. “All that and for what?” Alejandro hissed angrily.

“We’ve almost broken the first. The rest will follow fast: they always do. Interrogation takes patience and exactness. You have to seem like you are in control at all times, even if you don’t feel like you are.” He looked distressed, taking a long drink of something that was definitely not water. “You’ve never done interrogation before, have you?”

“No, no, I have not. It was never my field, though now I wish I had learned more.” Horangi came back whistling. “You seem excited.” He cracked his neck.

“I am excited: we’ll break him soon. Did you know he’s had a hip replacement? He’s got a surgery scar, less than 3 weeks old and not completely healed. He’s also got 7 cavities. But most interesting is this: he had a picture of 4 little infants under his vest. I just found his address, too-” Kate and Alejandro locked eyes with his sunglasses in horror.

“You’re not going to hurt his kids.” Alejandro growled. Horangi scoffed.

“Of course not. I’m going to let him think I will.” Kate frowned.

“Why would he ever believe that from an actual military man?”

“Why wouldn’t he? He’s been in fire fights with Los Vaqueros, and he saw what I did to his boss, too. Why would he think anyone capable of taking a life couldn’t do the same to a child? After all, cartels do it every day. If you’re not comfortable with that, don’t go in.” They followed him, and he held off on using that at both Kate and Alejandro’s demand. Then it hit hour 3 of day 7: they were running out of time and methods. Kate sighed, grabbing Alejandro.

“I’m going to check on our other visitors, Horangi.”

“Eo, ma’am.” Alejandro hissed, looking furious as Kate closed the door and pulled him along out of earshot,

“He is lying and threatening children!”

“It’s not an actual threat. Yes, it’s a dirty trick, but we have nothing. Give him an hour, and we’ll see what happens.” He snapped,

“I thought America had standards.”

“We do. But Korea doesn’t subscribe to those same standards. I don’t like it, either, but we’re on day seven, Vargas. Every day, those cartels are getting larger and hurting more people, and their information is getting cold-” Horangi stepped out of the room, waving a handful of papers.

“You’re welcome.” Kate stared at the documents.

“Holy sh*t.”

“So surprised. I told you. Any method that gets me the real information. Who’s next?” Kate glanced at Alejandro. “Ah. My methods are not…acceptable by American standards, right?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, Horangi, but as much help as this information was, Colonel Vargas and myself are uncomfortable with allowing threats of children to happen on his base, even as a general threat.” Horangi nodded.

“Then we’ll go home. I find no offense: interrogation tends to get messy on the moral lines. Good luck, Alejandro, Miss Laswell.”

“Thank you, Horangi.” Kate smiled as he disappeared.

Horangi gestured everyone to pack up. “Where to, Kim?” Yuki asked, shifting awkwardly. His legs were still stiff from his running: he decided to not stop running until Horangi told him to. Which was his mistake: Horangi didn’t say he could until day 4 of the interrogations (he still slept and ate; he just didn’t otherwise stop running).

“China.” His officers looked at each other in confusion. “There was intel connecting the Federation, China, Russia, and America in a terrorist smuggling ring. Jin?”

“I’ve notified General Shepard of America and General Byun Chae-Won: this is deep cover. We have the American-based Shadow Company offering assistance as well: they’re our tickets in as immigrants and have our passports and ID ready there.”

“We are infiltrating a red cell. Do not give them anything, not even our real names. Stay tight and stay discreet, understood?”

“Yes, sir!”

2021, January 25^th: Farah called, “Make sure to get water and visit medical before going into the nest-Price?” He waved with a smile, Nikolai right beside him. She blinked as Alex explained sheepishly,

“The others told me it was your birthday, and I told them.”

“It’s fine. I don’t celebrate my birthday.” She said easily, shaking her head as Price crossed his arms.

“Well, you are today. Nothing fancy, promise. We only got you one thing, and brought a movie, to go with your doll.” Nikolai raised a movie that Alex snorted at.

“Princess and the Pauper, really?” Price shrugged, offering the present. Farah sighed, taking it.

“I really don’t celebrate my-shoes?” Her voice went high at the new, tan, heavy-duty boots. Price said nervously,

“Nik said your shoes were a little small, hence why you kept getting blisters. Ghost picked them out, and Gaz approved the color.” Farah smiled weakly, hugging the box.

“…Thank you. Um, if possible, could you not speak Russian on base? The others are still very…on edge.”

“Of course. I can hide the accent, too.” He spoke perfectly fluent Arabic. As in, Farah could barely tell he wasn’t born here. She stared at him. “I choose not to. Your pride in Urkistan is the same I feel for Russia. My relationship with her is simply…complicated.” Alex laughed, patting his shoulder.

“Alright, let’s get this movie started.”

Chapter 35: 2021, February-March

Chapter Text

2021, February 7^th: Kate groaned as she hit her head on Price’s shoulder. “Terri’s going to kill me.”

“Yeah.” He offered unhelpfully. “What held you up so long in Mexico?”

“The cartels wouldn’t spill anything, and the one guy who could make them used…questionable tactics so got sent home to Korea.” Price hummed.

“Korea, ay?”

“On a brighter note, I have a contact in the Mexican Special Forces now. Issues: the flights are all canceled until the snow storm stops, and it’s not going anywhere anytime soon; I left my suitcase at my office because it was supposed to be a quick flight but now, I’m not going anywhere; Terri’s phone busted last night while we were talking-f*ck.” Price offered easily, Kate groaning.

“We’ve got a guest room. Why not spend the night with me and Nik? We’ve even got every size jammies you could want, and plenty of toiletries. It wouldn’t be any trouble at all.”

“I have never stayed with you before. Anything I should know?”

“Other than Ghost might show up and hole up in the nesting room, no.”

“Thanks, John.” He nodded, patting her back lightly.

“Happy birthday, Kate.” She sighed heavily, leaning into his shoulder with an angry hum. She shuffled into the guest room, finding pajamas in every size imaginable. The closest size was definitely a set picked out by Ghost: it had a skull pattern on the shirt. Price looked at her and chuckled. “See you found Alex’s.”

“I thought these were Ghost’s.”

“He borrows them sometimes, but they’re really Alex’s.”

“You have a set for all of them, don’t you?”

“2 at least.” Price corrected with a smile.

“Why haven’t you asked them to move in?”

“Hasn’t come up. And I don’t want to pressure them.” He admitted as she glared.

“Ask them. Half the time I find Ghost and Gaz here anyways.” Kate and Price both looked up as the door rattled. Ghost stepped in, froze at seeing Kate, eyes vacant as a low growl started-

“Blue, Ghost. It’s Kate.” The growl stopped, him staring for a bit longer.

“Oh.” He stalked into the nesting room with a scowl in his eyes. “Thought you were getting robbed.” Kate blinked her watering eyes as lilac slapped her in the face until Ghost closed the door.

“Hell, he even has a key, John…Is he in heat?” Price nodded with a sigh.

“He just spends the first few nights or so in the nesting room. They’re pretty bad for him. Get some sleep, Kate. We’ll get you home tomorrow.”

“And we’re talking about inviting them to move in, too.” She hissed. Price smiled, but she knew he’d find a way to dodge the topic, the slippery bastard.

2021, March 20^th: Keegan groaned, wincing as his body rejected every inch he moved. “Damn it, not again. It’s been a f*cking week, why can’t you be normal, you bastard…”

“Seriously, again?” Ajax muttered in amazement, looking him over.

“f*ck. I need calcium, iron, and Vitamin C, bad. Joys of being irregular, I guess. I’ll get through today the old-fashioned way.”

“Which is?”

“Grit and Luck.” Keegan grunted, wincing as he got to a standing position, Ajax handing over an orange and coffee-he bit into the orange rind and all, Ajax’s eyes bulging. “Rind has the most Vitamin C, Ajax. Tastes disgusting, though.”

“You sure you got this? Trying to force your way through a heat is pretty daring, even for you.”

“Eventually, you’ll learn I’m the daringest bitch you’ll ever meet, love.” Keegan chuckled. While he still wobbled, he successfully got outside of his room/the team nest and even got to the sofa, sitting down with a sigh-he groaned as the door opened. “If it’s a f*cking mission-”

“It’s me, you dickhe*d.” Neptune. He glanced over at the perfectly average alpha except for his excessive number of tattoos and the few piercings on his face, who was glaring at him. Oh, hell, he was in rut right now. Just what he needed, sh*t.

“I’d rather the mission.”

“Came to debrief you from the Thailand safehouse clearing and mission. Kate really pulled through with that intel. What’s up your ass this time?” Ajax stated flatly,

“2^nd heat in a month.”

“Sucks for him.” Neptune said flatly, setting up his computer. Ajax whined, shoulders slumping,

“Can’t he debrief later? It’s even his birthday, and the heat? Come on.”

“No can do, chicken sh*t. Debrief comes first, then he can go on leave.”

“That’s not-” Keegan waved him off easily.

“It’s fine, Jax. I can handle a little talk even with this hard ass.”

“Good. Talk me through.” Keegan said flatly,

“We went in, killed 14 terrorists, and took down a drug lord using kids to make co*ke.”

“…That’s cute, a one sentence report.” Neptune sighed, looking up in annoyance. “I need exacts-you know this, you bitchwad!” Keegan smirked, leaning back as Neptune’s eye twitched. He still wasn’t sure what Neptune’s issue was with him, or if there even was one. It didn’t seem to be gender related: he insulted Merrick and Ajax just as bad whenever they backtalked-maybe that was the issue? But he did the same thing when just meeting Keegan. It was kind of a turn on-no, that was the heat talking. Keegan shook his head, trying to push that thought train away. “Let’s try this again. Thailand. DETAILS. Go.”

“I gave you the details, dipsh*t.” Neptune scowled as Keegan smirked in self-satisfaction.

“Ajax. Leave the room.”

“Uh-” Keegan gave a thumbs up.

“Don’t worry: he can’t use the alpha tone.” Neptune had a purposeful surgery to remove his vocal cord’s ability to produce it: Keegan wasn’t sure why, since Neptune was not a very open guy, and that was definitely not something you asked about lightly or could even bring up gently. “He’s in rut himself.”

“Well, you’re the one who agreed to be the help for us during.” Ajax shrugged. “But what about the report-”

“He wants to be a f*cking brat; I’m going to treat him like one.” Neptune snarled.

“Nice.” Ajax raised his hands and stepped out.

“Happy birthday, Keegs.”

2021, March 26^th: Keegan groaned sleepily. “Shut up, bastard…”

“Y’sir.” He slurred out, barely able to open his eyes. Holy sh*t, that was great. He’d never actually helped Neptune with his, that was always-Rorke. Oh, sh*t. Rorke and Neptune were-he glanced at Neptune’s tattoos, just seeing the coverup of a mating bond underneath a broken, open tomb. “Neptune.”

“I said shut up.” He said hotly, eyes burning a hole into the wall as he got dressed.

“Stop for a sec, I want to talk.”

“I don’t.” He spat.

“Were you and Rorke-” Keegan’s head slammed into the wall, Neptune’s eyes slits of fury.

“Don’t-don’t bring him up. He’s an enemy now.” Keegan nodded, never having seen the man so…angry as tears pooled on his cheeks. “He’s an enemy, and that’s all he is.” Keegan nodded.

“…Are you okay?” Neptune choked, inhaling shakingly.

“Ghosts don’t break. He did. He’s not a Ghost.”

“…He was, though.” Keegan yelped as Neptune pinned him against the wall, snapping,

“Take it back! He broke: he’s not a Ghost! Take it back, NOW!” Keegan stared at him. “Please. Please, take it back…” Neptune slowly fell to his knees, clutching his neck right where the mark had been as he sobbed. “Take it back. He wasn’t a ghost. He’s not…he can’t be.” Keegan knelt in front of the heaving man, and hugged him.

“6 years…I think you win the emotional constipation award, Neptune. It’ll be alright. We’ll…we’ll figure out something.”

Chapter 36: 2021, April-May

Chapter Text

2021, April 1^st: Terri fumbled out her phone. “Hello, Terri Laswell.”

“I’ll never get used to you having Laswell as a last name, girlie.”

“Keegs!” She exclaimed happily, bouncing in place. She hadn’t heard from him in ages, not since Christmas!

“Hey, Terri. Sorry I had to bolt on Christmas. We’re having a party now. Guys.”

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” She laughed, grinning as the military men tried to sing Happy Birthday, forgot the words, argued over what could possibly be the words, which led to at least one punch being thrown.

“Bunch of muscle heads, huh?” Keegan laughed.

“I appreciate it, boys. I was worried you died. Don’t scare me like that again: at least text.”

“We all went dark, Terri: no messages in or out until mission complete-Hey! Watch the phone, M!” She snorted as Keegan sighed again. “Hate that I can’t keep better contact, girlie, but-”

“I get it, really. My wife’s in the CIA, you know. Half the people I know are in the military, even my dad. I’m not that naïve. Just let me know, because I do worry about you. I know you can handle basically anything, but that doesn’t mean I don’t worry.”

“Got it, girlie. I’ll try to get better at it. Not used to having people worry about my safety: usually it’s the poor saps around me.”

“Hey!” Ajax shouted, Keegan cussing as a loud clatter sounded.

“Ow. Don’t f*cking tackle me into the coffee table, Jax!” Terri laughed as Keegan got involved in the minor fist fight. This was probably the best gift she could have asked for from him: just knowing he was alright and still…him.

Alejandro leaned into Rudy. “Happy birthday, obscuro.”

“Gracias, luz. How was the meeting?”

“About the same as usual. They won’t up our funding or access to information because we’re omegas and ‘can’t do an alpha’s job right’. How the hell did you stay undercover for 10 years…”

“The same way I dealt with Horangi’s men. Act innocent until I get my teeth into their throat.” Alejandro chuckled. He’d heard the story from Santos: a second member of the 10-person squad decided to try and bite Rudy for giving orders to her during combat practice. Rudy was an espionage expert. No one could go in unnoticed like him even with how small and physically weak he was compared to even other omegas. He’d spent 10 years undercover in Mexico’s main Special Forces, fronting as an alpha runt when Alejandro hadn’t made it past the first day. But all that meant is Rudy was FAST. Before Jin could get involved, Rudy had subdued his attacker and warned all of them not to approach aggressively unless they were ready to eat dirt. Sure, he’d spent the next 2 hours panicking in Alejandro’s bedroom, but that didn’t change the fact he had taught Korean special forces not to f*ck with Los Vaqueros. “…This is only going to end when one of us dies or worse, you know?”

“Depends on who dies first, luz.” Alejandro said with a smile. If Rudy died, Alejandro knew he couldn’t do anything else. He’d break after getting revenge. But if Alejandro died…God help stop the hellfire that would come.

2021, April 4^th: Horangi yelped as Jin dragged him into the room. “What the hell?”

“We’re going out tonight: we found your birthday.” Horangi scowled behind his mask: he’d exchanged the full face for just a fabric face one due to being undercover right now, so his expressions were far clearer. “Don’t make that face. You can swipe my dress clothes if you don’t have any, and Yuki befriended that one bouncer at the new club down the street: we’ll get in for free.”

“I don’t celebrate my birthday.” It had NOTHING but bad memories.

“Then we’re celebrating a good day.” Jin dismissed.

“Look, I appreciate it, I do, but I don’t celebrate my birthday. I’m roleplaying a damn omega, too: I’m not asking for a scene.” It was for the best: small alphas brought attention, and undercover missions required as little attention as possible. It was far too close to home, the stares, the snigg*rs. He could feel the needle scars on his fingers, the back of his hands aching from the etiquette corrections of a ruler being smacked against them. Jin looked him up and down, raising an eyebrow. Horangi sighed heavily. “Fine, fine. But you are not going out like that: give me a brush so I can fix that ugly hair.”

“Yes, sir!”

2021, May 10: Keegan kissed his cheek with a smile. “Happy birthday, Jax.” He smiled back, hugging Keegan from the side as Keegan’s smile disappeared. Birthdays didn’t mean much here, but it was important to recognize them. It gave a sense of normalcy. That there would be another one. Another celebration, another chance. It was hope, and that was all that was keeping them together. Ever since they found out on Christmas Rorke was alive. Alive and hunting Ghosts. They’d cleared out all the safehouses he’d known, Neptune had moved in to the same apartment as them, but a floor up. It addressed what they could, but this was dangerous, more so than he cared to admit. Rorke was one of the best, if not THE best.

“Do you think we’re going to get new members?”

“…I hope not.” Keegan admitted as Kick flew them to the next task. Ajax looked at him in concern. “We’re doing this for good reasons, I believe that. But I don’t want anyone else to get dragged through the sh*tstorm with us. Not anymore, not when Rorke is hunting us all down.” Ajax leaned back, closing his eyes.

“…I’m really scared, Keegs.” Keegan set a hand on his shoulder firmly.

“So am I. Use that to stay alive and f*ck up the Feds.”

“That’s a hard copy.” Ajax muttered.

2021, May 12^th: Gaz winced as he heard the whimpering, every instinct in him telling him to make sure Ghost was okay-Nik stopped him. “Ghost is…not himself during heat. Better to wait for him to come to you.”

“Is Price still on mission?” Nik nodded. “…is he going to be okay?” Nik nodded again.

“He has yet to not come back to me.”

“That why you haven’t slept in 5 days.” Nik winced.

“You noticed.” Gaz nodded vaguely, watching the door. “…Want to learn to make draniki?”

“Sure.” It was an absolute disaster, but Gaz and Nik were both losing it at the mess they successfully made. Then Gaz smelled lilac, and looked over to see Ghost at the window in dead silence. Nik noticed as well, going quiet. “What are you doing over there by yourself?”

“…You sound…good.” He mumbled quietly; a steaming towel wrapped around his waist tight enough Gaz was certain he would have bruises forming by tomorrow. “And, uh…I need…” He looked flustered. “I need an aid…it’s…too big, and mine was…taken when I left the barracks.” Nik nodded firmly, handing Gaz the plate.

“I will find one. Have some attempts at draniki.” Ghost nodded, Gaz slowing getting closer with the plate as Nik headed out.

“…Something I can do?” Ghost shook his head, Gaz noticing the closer he got, the more distressed his scent got. So he stopped approaching. Ghost finished closing the gap slowly, taking the burnt potato pancakes with a raised eyebrow. “Can’t cook Russian, apparently.” Ghost nodded vaguely, wincing. Gaz wasn’t used to people actually experiencing PAIN during heat. Just intense discomfort due to the burning need to mate.

“I can’t do laundry myself.” Ghost said softly. “I just can cook and sew. Make these myself.” He gestured to his mask.

“I thought you bought our gifts. Professional quality, there.” Ghost gestured to the cluster of 4 birds on the kitchen counter.

“Both crafters, then.” He then bit his tongue, eyes squinting upwards as he tried to fight back a whine. A more comfortable silence fell, Gaz careful not to touch the in-agony Ghost, and Ghost making no move to touch Gaz. The door opened-Gaz jerked at the guttural snarl that came out of Ghost’s throat, the sharp smell of curry peppers filling the air. He said softly, Ghost’s eyes vacant.

“It’s just Nik.” Nik waved, hesitating to approach as he said softly,

“Blue.” Ghost’s eyes refocused, him looking over Nik. He gave a nod and let Nik approach: Gaz made a mental note that ‘blue’ was his control word. Very important information to have. He gave him the aid, and Ghost headed to the room-then paused.

“…Can I put you as my contact?” Nik’s eyes widened as Ghost shrugged noncommittedly. “Mean, you’re…basically my pops already.” Gaz smiled at the awkwardly shifting Ghost and staring Nik. Then Nik seemed to come to his senses.

“If you still feel that way after heat, of course. And…you can call me pops if you want.” Ghost nodded curtly, disappearing. Gaz waited until he heard Ghost settling, then turned to Nik.

“Same with me. Can I call you pops?” Nik was almost in tears as he nodded, then he asked,

“Can I bother you with bad jokes?”

“Already did.” Gaz teased, patting the shaking from joy man’s shoulder.

2021, May 27: Logan flinched as the door slammed. “Lo! We got clearance!” He tilted his head, blinking a few times as David called excitedly, “We’re going out to your favorite diner and getting mint cake!” Logan beamed, embracing his brother tightly. Clearance to go to that diner on the edge of No Man’s Land: it barely made it into the Wall when it was built. It had been 6 years since they’d last gone, when dad had randomly taken them to celebrate something from work that he couldn’t talk about. “Happy birthday, Logan.” Logan raised his hands, frowning as he feebly signed out,

“My glad day.”

“And you’re getting better at sign, too?! Damn, you’re doing great, bro.” Logan smiled as they headed out. He’d been studying it for years now, between missions and firefights and rescuing people from Feds. He hadn’t learned before because Dad thought it was just him being weak again: but Logan literally couldn’t speak: it was mentally impossible for him. He didn’t have anyone to teach him after the ODIN strike, either: it was a struggle with limited resources to help, and even with David trying to learn, too, there just wasn’t enough anything… He pushed it from his head. They were going out to eat for the first time since he was 15. He would be happy. He wasn’t a crybaby. Logan leaned over the table after they ordered. “Hey. I know we were raised like warriors. Tougher than nails, stronger than steel. And dad was really rough on you, being an omega and all. But you’re doing great. Seriously. I’m proud of you.” Logan pointed to him. “Ha, ha. Come on, I’m just doing what I can.” Logan scowled, writing a note and handing it to David.

“Which is a lot. We both saw that day. And you kept going even after. I say you’re the strongest soldier in the world.” He turned red, and grabbed Logan’s hand, squeezing it.

“Thanks. Now, let’s eat, eh?”

Chapter 37: 2021, June-July

Chapter Text

2021, June 23^rd: Ghost could feel the frustration coming off of Gaz as he walked inside, clay scent stronger than he’d ever smelled. “…You broken?” He asked uncertainly. Price had just left on mission for Kate: he wasn’t sure what it was for. Nik was in heat, locked inside of their shared bedroom: he’d taken blockers to stall it for some reason he hadn’t shared with the others. Not that it was any of their business…

“No.” Came the clipped reply. Sure, Gaz may not talk much, but his responses had never short in tone. He could hear his raised heartbeat from here: it was making him antsy.

“…Want to go blind, then?” Gaz looked at him in confusion, then his eyes clicked the phrase.

“You hate pub hopping.”

“Something’s got you ticked, and that’s what I’ve got.” Ghost shrugged. Gaz sighed, rubbing his head.

“Some dick called me a stump.” Ghost’s eyes narrowed at the slur.

“What the f*ck?” Gaz shrugged.

“I was ignoring it, but then he kept going, and I just got out of there. I’m used to it, but still pisses me off.”

“Hmm. We’re going to the pub.” Ghost stated decidedly. Gaz scoffed, accepting Ghost’s guiding hand on his shoulder.

“That’s a way to spend my birthday.” Ghost paused.

“Today’s your birthday? Hell didn’t you say anything?”

“My parents always made a big deal about it. Died last year in a car crash.” Ghost grunted: he wasn’t that attached to his parents except mom, so didn’t have anything to say in comfort. He instead reached into his jacket and pulled out a small box.

“Glad I got this, then. Happy birthday.” Gaz blinked at the very badly wrapped gift, but chuckled, opening it as they walked along. It was a new water bottle that read in hand-carved letters, ‘I survived a heli ride’. “Heh. Thanks.”

“Yours broke last week, so.” Gaz looked amused.

“You’re bloody observant.” Ghost smirked behind his mask. The bar was overpacked and loud, but they just picked a corner booth and got some beers. It was a fairly calm evening, Gaz starting to loosen up as time progressed and Ghost cracked the few jokes he knew (either dark or puns).

“What are some lovely ladies like you doing by yourself~” There it was. Ghost closed his eyes in annoyance.

“Having a pint. Mind your business.” Gaz said flatly, taking another swing.

“Lady, another round for these fine-”

“We can get our own.” Ghost said lowly, warning the man to back off.

“Come on, I can smell you are getting hot and heavy~”

“Ghost.” Gaz warned as he went to get the man AWAY, stopping him. They were in public off duty. He shouldn’t cause a scene, even with the alphas and betas were getting more in his space.

“I think being called mine fits better, little puppy-” The man was on the ground before Ghost realized what he had done, Gaz to his feet with a snarl.

“That was your lot’s last warning. Ghost?”

“I’m fine.” He growled lowly, watching the group warily. The bartender shouted,

“If you lot are going to cause trouble, get out!”

“The flipdick’s the one-” Gaz decked him that time, the bartender saying hotly,

“I don’t allow slurs in my bar: get out! You boys alright?” Gaz nodded stiffly as the bouncers bodily dragged the troublemakers out of the bar. “Sorry about that: FNGs on base cause all sorts of issues around this time. There’s usually a supervisor, but…”

“No worries. Home or stay?” Ghost shook his head.

“I’m fine. ‘Nother round, sir.”

“On the house.” He said easily, the lady handing the beers over. Ghost offered,

“Next time, we’re doing a movie night. Every f*cking time I go out…” Gaz chuckled.

“Deal.”

2021, July 7^th: Keegan paused, looking over the area with a deep sniff. “Hey, M. You smell old chocolate?”

“Yeah: thought it was some dead beta aways back.” Marrick said dismissively. Keegan jumped out of the car, Elias following him while barking, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

“I know that scent: be at exfil in 10!” He saw the bruises before he recognized the man. What the hell was John doing in Verdansk? “Hey, get up.” He shook John awake, who groaned.

“The-Keegan?!” He crouched, sniffing along John. Drop-dead tired: reeked, too. At least a month without a shower. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I was going to ask the same thing. Come on: we’re pulling out, so you can come with. Wait, your mission done?”

“Yeah, I took care of it…who’s we?” Keegan pulled Price up, the alpha following him through the urban streets.

“My pack. Hey, Scarecrow! I found a friend.” Elias and Marrick both had a gun on John instantly.

“ID, now.”

“Captain John Price, SAS.”

“John-Kate’s best friend?” Marrick questioned, stunned. Keegan nodded, pulling John into the truck as Kick slowed just enough to allow it. “What are you doing in Verdansk?”

“Kate called me in. Got the notice to pull out last night, but no exfil could get me.” The supply stockpile protected with Russian gas. Tracked with their mission. “And you lot?”

“Classified.” Elias snapped. Keegan rolled his eyes. Marrick pointed to each of them.

“Scarecrow, Ajax, Keegan, Kick, and I’m Merrick: we’ve spoken on the phone. Neptune, get us out of here.”

“Friendly, ain’t they?” John grumbled. Keegan laughed lightly.

“I’m the nice one. Let’s get you home. I want a f*cking shower, and you need one.”

2021, July 8^th: Ghost slid into the living room, watching the door as Nik bounced in place. Gaz had the tea ready on the counter: Kate had already warned them: Price was absolutely knackered. The door opened, and Gaz had to fight down a gag: the smell was overwhelming. “Hello, boys.” He said flatly. “I’m taking a shower: I’ll be back.” He disappeared into the restroom, scent of rotting chocolate and moss following him through accompanied with blood and clear bruises visible.

“I’ll make dinner.” Nik said softly, Gaz pulling out the first aid kit.

“I’ve got the bruises.” Ghost headed to the master bedroom to get it warmed up and settled, then knocked on the bathroom door about 20 minutes later as Nik talked to Gaz lightly. After he knocked, he opened the door and saw Price leaning against the shower wall with his eyes closed. That bad, huh…he set out some jammies for him, sitting against the farthest wall.

“Need something?”

“No.” Ghost replied flatly, watching Price groan as he started actually taking a shower. They didn’t exchange another word, Ghost just making sure he didn’t collapse from the utter exhaustion he was carrying. He stumbled a few times but never actually fell. When Price finished, he got out-and Ghost handed him a warm towel. Price nodded in thanks, both of them heading to the bed where Nik was smiling, holding a tray of easy to grab foods. Gaz said casually,

“Bed’s ready, too.” Price sat down heavily, not fighting Gaz checking over his various cuts and bruises. They all ended up entangled on the bed, Price dead in the center as he whispered with a smile,

“Thanks, boys.”

2021: July 10^th. Soap checked his phone as the time glared 3 am. Text from Captain Price? Something, something… ‘interested?’ He sent back, half unconscious,

‘Yes.’ He got another alert, eyes closed as he sent back, ‘no’. Third alert, and he groaned as his scent spiked, sending ‘probably’ from his auto select. The texts stop, and he blacked out into peace again. In the morning, he groaned softly, reading the texts as he woke up, trying to find one of his masks.

‘Starting a task group. You’re invited. Interested?’

‘Yes.’ Well, he was damn glad he sent yes.

‘Don’t you want more info??’

‘No.’ Oh, he really should’ve read that…

‘Do you think you should meet your teammates?’

‘Probably.’ He dialed Price, shifting from one foot to another.

“Price.”

“Captain! I’m sorry, I was half asleep. The answer is still yes, and yes, and yes.”

“Good. I’m sending Gaz to pick you up. Ghost’s on mission right now, but you’re coming with us.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Right, we’re a pack. No pressure to join, just want you to know the dynamic.”

“Got it, sir.” He got out just before Price hung up, groaning to himself. He didn’t want to join a pack: it was hard enough in general without that on his shoulders, too- “Wait, where’d he get my number?” He realized out loud, finally finding a clean one. He headed out to the airstrip, and saw a slightly taller than normal beta: clay scent and all. He glanced at the stranger’s name tag. No first name, no last name. It just said ‘Gaz’. If that’s how it was, he’d use his own nickname. He shook Gaz’s gloved hand: pretty long gloves. He must not be a fan of being touched, but he still accepted Soap’s hand. “I’m Soap.”

“Gaz. No gloves?”

“Figure they’ll say no if there’s a problem.” Gaz nodded.

“Let’s go.”

“Alright! How’d Captain Price get my number?”

“Cap’s got tricks. Pay attention, you might learn them.” Soap grinned. Oh, this would be fun. And it was: Gaz didn’t talk much, but other than tripping over nothing and hearing a camera click behind him, nothing went wrong.

2021, July 11^th: Price groaned as he sat up-and blinked at a tray of food being in his bed. “Eh?” Nik called with a grin,

“Our kids decided to make you breakfast in bed.” Price smiled softly, gesturing to the orange juice.

“Gaz?”

“Gaz.” Nik laughed, leaning against Price. “Happy birthday.”

“Happy birthday, indeed, pepper spray. Anything else?”

“They also finished repair job on furniture and nest.”

“How?” Price said dumbly. He’d just started on all that last night.

“You are old man, da?”

“Oh, shut up.” He laughed, kissing Nik’s forehead gently.

2021, July 14^th: Iris laughed with the family as he stepped out to the garden, smile instantly fading as he set to pacing nervously. “Come on, Soap, pick up.”

“You’ve reached Soap MacTavish, squeaky clean. Leave a message after the thud and beep.” THUD. Iris still wasn’t sure what the heck Soap had dropped to make that sound.

“Hey, cous, it’s Iris. Um, this is number 9, your inbox is getting pretty full. I know you hate voicemails, so I’m hoping this’ll be the one to piss you off enough to call back. I know I told you to shut up a lot, but I am really freaking out over your silence right now. Weird times we live in, aye? Anyways, answer your bloody phone, moron. Please.” He hung up, taking a deep inhale before forcing a smile back on and entering the building again. An hour later, he stepped out again, dialing Soap again. “Come on, you motherf*cker-”

“’ello?” Came the slurred words.

“Soap! Where the hell are you? I’ve been worried sick, what the f*ck?!”

“Iris-‘m fine, just slobbered.” He mumbled, a crash sounding through the phone.

“Where are you? I’m coming to get you, and are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine-ow, that hurt-just completely pissed…uh…I’m at Foley’s…”

“Stay inside. I’m heading out right now.” It was 3 blocks away. Iris walked inside, and found Soap half-conscious at a booth by himself. “What the f*ck, Soap?”

“’ello, Iris.” He mumbled out, head rolling. Iris demanded,

“How much did he drink?”

“I cut him off 30 minutes ago at 7 pints. Can you get him home? He’s disturbing the other costumers.”

“Aye, I got him.” Iris sighed as he parked in front of his house. “Your mum will have a cow if I bring you in like this, so we’re staying in the car for the night.”

“I’m sorry…” He slurred out. Iris shook his head.

“I’m taking you to a meeting if you keep doing this.”

“Only do it in July.” He half-defended.

“I’m just worried, mate. Get some sleep: we’ll talk when you’re sober.” Iris knew they wouldn’t: Soap didn’t talk about his issues.

Chapter 38: 2021, August-December

Chapter Text

2021, August 15^th: Price checked Ghost’s fever. “Told you to wear a thicker jacket to Siberia.” He groaned in displeasure, brown eyes still scanning the room. “You’re safe, mate. We’re in my apartment.”

“Targets…?” He forced out. Price nodded.

“Got them both.”

“Both?” Ghost muttered, eyes going vacant. Price tensed. He knew blue made him a friendly even during an attack, but he wasn’t sure if that also included a fever-riddled brain. The door was knocked on, Ghost not reacting.

“Blue. It’s Gaz.” Ghost still didn’t respond. “Gaz, I think you’re good.” The door opened slowly, him holding a steaming cup of tea and a bowl of soup carefully. Ghost laid down, flipping onto his side. “That’s…new. Thanks, son.”

“No problem, cap.”

“Ghost, you need to eat.” Price said in worry. Ghost had never turned his back when he went vacant before. If anything, he made it to where no one could get to his back. Gaz stepped outside, Price saying softly, “Simon-” He flinched away from Price, face pressing against the wall.

“Don’t wanna kiss Rocco.” His voice was small and weak. Price blinked.

“Who’s Rocco?” Ghost curled tighter into himself, Price hearing his heartrate spiking as his breath hardened.

“Don’t wanna laugh. Don’t wanna…”

“You don’t have to do anything, Simon. You’re safe. We’re blue.” He wasn’t sure how long he tried to ease Ghost down from whatever panicked state he’d entered that Price had never seen before, but there was a knock on the door that made him jump.

“Price? Has he eaten?” He smiled wearily at Nik, shaking his head.

“I’ve…never seen him sick before. Something’s wrong upstairs, and…I can’t help him like this.”

“Hmm. Get some rest: I’ll stay with him for the night. Ghost? May I sit?” He didn’t react or turn. Nik sat down anyways. “Mate, please. You have been in here for hours. I can handle it.” Price left, Nik watching him go with a worried frown, and then he gently set a hand on Ghost’s thigh. “Do you want to hear song?” Ghost didn’t react. Nik started singing softly anyways, Russian filling their apartment as Gaz looked up from his paperwork to get a new armor vest. (Смерти Больше Нет)

“I fill my eyes with kerosene, let it all burn, let it all burn. All of Russia is watching me, let it all burn, let it all burn.”

“Price?” Price shook his head.

“He doesn’t like singing this song. Hits too close to home. So Ghost is having a trauma relapse, but I don’t know what it is.”

“Now I’m prepared for anything at all, I did my time online, I’m going out onto the street to play with a cat, but a cop car runs the cat over.” Gaz frowned: he wished he knew Russian. He’d have to find someone to teach him, surprise Nik. “I’m going through the city wearing my black hoodie, it’s cold as usual and the people are not happy, nothing awaits me ahead, but i’m waiting for you, one day you’ll find me.”

“Hate it, not being able to help. Hell kind of captain can’t help his kids?” Price mumbled angrily.

“With gold chains on my neck I’m sinking in this swamp, my blood is purer than the purest drugs, you’ll be taken by police with others on the square, I’ll be rolling joints in my brand-new house.” Gaz frowned as Nik’s voice was cracking now, emotion spilling over as he continued to sing, “I fill my eyes with kerosene, let it all burn, let it all burn. All of Russia is watching me, let it all burn, let it all burn.” Price sat next to Gaz, Gaz putting a hand on his thigh as Nik repeated the words.

“You’re still here and trying, cap. That mean everything right now.”

“Death no more, death no more…” The voice trailed off, and Nik carefully left the room. “He is asleep now.”

“You solid?” Price asked worriedly. Nik nodded.

“Parental trauma: he asked me not to make him…laugh? I assume his was triggered due to fever-driven hallucinations.”

“Said the same to me. There something we can do?”

“Let him calm down and recover from the fever. He may not remember what he said, but making him eat and drink will help him recover faster. He’s sleeping for now: one of us should check in an hour, see if he’s more lucid.”

2021, August 20^th: Ghost slowly sat up with Price’s help, wincing. “f*ck, m’head’s all foggy.”

“You did have a fever for 5 days, mate.” Gaz stated, looking amused.

“That long…? Tell me I didn’t do anything cracked.”

“Well, you successfully called me dad.” Ghost flushed, tensing as Price continued easily, “You also kept asking us not to make you laugh or kiss someone named Rocco.” Ghost covered his face, groaning.

“Forgot the f*cking snake’s name was Rocco.”

“S-snake?” Gaz squeaked out.

“Yeah. Bastard father of the year liked making me kiss his damn boa.” Price’s eyes widened, Nik’s narrowing.

“Where is he.”

“Grave somewhere: died Christmas, 2015.” Ghost shrugged, mind still foggy as he grumbled out, “Laugh’s probably referencing the whor*.” Nikolai blinked at him in confusion, Price raising an eyebrow as Gaz stuttered,

“W-whor*? What whor*?”

“whor* that OD-ed in the bathroom. I was 7? 8? Dunno, somewhere around there. Took me to his damn metal concert on my birthday, and gave this whor* co*ke: she OD-ed.” Ghost’s grip ripped the sheets as he snarled, “f*cker made me LAUGH at her.”

“Mate, what the f*ck?” Gaz said dumbly, Ghost standing up wobbly.

“I’m f*cking starving…” Price said, watching him with a sudden understanding Ghost wasn’t sure he liked,

“There’s some yogurt and boiled eggs in the fridge. Don’t make yourself sick eating.” Gaz looked at Price in horror as Ghost shuffled out of the room.

“Cap, what the f*ck is he on about?”

“I think I know why he didn’t break in Mexico.” Was all Price offered. When was Ghost ever in Mexico?? Nik’s eye was twitching.

“I am going to gym.”

“Don’t break anyone’s skull, pepper spray.”

“Da.” Was the only offer as Nik stormed out, muttering angrily in Russian as he went.

2021, August 22^nd: “Bitte Sie, Mama.” Konig stated through the phone, anxiously straightening his pack.

“No need to apologize, Bärchen. I know you have been very busy.” An understatement of the year. Graves was more than just a ‘not nice’ boss. If Konig was going to read into his actions, he’d say Phillip didn’t want him in the company at all, considering how fondly the others spoke of his practices, his willingness to go into the field and front lines that Konig had never seen. If he hadn’t been invited to join personally, he would even venture to say Phillip was actively trying to get him to quit. He got the worst missions, the ones with little chance of success. He got cleaner duty constantly. Konig worked alone. Even among the mainly alpha Shadow Company (disregarding Phillips himself, around 20 betas and maybe 12 omegas who were highly respected among the ranks), people were frightened of him. He didn’t mind terribly, really: he didn’t like working with others in general, much preferring to be on his own or with a very small team or 4 or 5 others. He just also happened to be one of the best leaders of the Austrian army because of his own experiences, so had gotten put with larger groups frequently there.

“Ja, but I have always visited you for my birthday and yours, and I have missed both.”

“You were just hired a short time ago. Give yourself time, Konig. Private military contracting is very different than a country’s military.” He wished he could say he agreed, but he didn’t. There was a clear totem pole; clear punishments for disobeying orders from a higher rank; missions that were practically copy-pasted from military work; and even the supplies and food options were the same (American, but the same). Yes, it was different, as he was always going to other countries and areas, and not the familiar territory of Austria; but the principles were identical.

“Ja, mama.” He heard Phillip call,

“Konig, might want to let her go, you’ll run late for the meeting.”

“Ja, Herr Graves. Pfiat di, mama.”

“Happy birthday. Pfiat di, Bärchen.” Konig smiled softly before joining Phillip in the meeting room. He knew it was just for intimidation factor and protection: Phillip didn’t need help talking, but he sometimes did piss off people stronger than him.

2021, September 13^th: Merrick nodded in approval as Keegan swore, trying to put out the kitchen fire. “You are absolutely hopeless as a homemaker, aren’t you? Is it grease or a normal fire?”

“How the f*ck should I know?!”

“At least the cake didn’t burn this time.” Ajax offered as Merrick covered the fire with a large pan lid.

“This time? How many did you make?”

“3.” Keegan mumbled under his breath.

“Wow. You are banned from cooking without supervision, ever again. Can’t you cook, Ajax?”

“Nope, not even with the microwave. You’re telling me you can?”

“Yeah. Who do you think keeps all the grab and go’s stocked?”

“Kick.” Came the flat statement from both of them.

“No. Kick CAN cook, but do you honestly think that guy can be trusted with the same ingredients to form smoke and gas bombs to make food for everyone in this apartment?”

“When you put it like that, it’s obvious.” Ajax grumbled. “But we got it made. I can paint, so I’ll decorate?”

“And I’ll make dinner. Can you be trusted to clean the living room?”

“We’ll find out, won’t we?” Keegan snapped, scowling as everyone set to work. Merrick occasionally called out directions to Keegan, who angrily would cuss and correct himself. “How do you know all this stuff?”

“My aunt is really big on the orderly house schtick.”

“You have an aunt?” Keegan and Ajax asked dumbly. Merrick blinked.

“Have…I never mentioned my folks, at all?”

“They’re alive?” Ajax stated, blinking rapidly.

“Huh. Yeah, I got eight of them kicking around in Alaska. My 2 uncles were both special ops, retired now; my aunt is severely disabled but still keeps up well enough by bossing my uncles around; my mom’s a tech wizard; and my four siblings are up there, too. My dad’s dead: died before I was born; but the rest of them are alive. Can’t believe I’ve never brought them up.”

“Yeah, family isn’t really a safe topic for guys anymore, so it was easier to just not ask and risk a whole thing.” Ajax shrugged.

“Right, yeah. Especially out west like we are.” Merrick muttered. ODIN really screwed up everything, didn’t it?

“If your mom’s a tech wizard, why are you awful at it?” Merrick rolled his eyes.

“Just not my thing, Keegs. I’d rather be in the field.” Ajax corrected,

“And he’s not actually bad at it. He just likes making Scarecrow do it.” Merrick smirked as Keegan whistled.

“Impressive.”

“We’re back, assholes.” Neptune stated flatly. Ajax mouthed,

“Stall, stall!” Keegan sighed, straightening and half-blocking Neptune and Kick’s view of the kitchen as he leaned against the wall in the hallway. Neptune raised an eyebrow.

“What are you doing?”

“Hey, so I read somewhere that like, there are these squids that can get through an inch wide tunnel, and Jax said you were the expert on that subject.” Neptune’s eyes sparked.

“Most of them can do that: it’s not that impressive for a cephalopod.” Keegan’s brow raised as Neptune went all in, describing various squids and what they could do with their bodies (which was frankly horrifying, the deeper into the sea Neptune described) as Kick tried not to laugh in the back.

“You’re good, Keegs!”

“Uh-huh. Um…thanks.” Keegan stated with a dumbfounded look on his face. Neptune smiled.

“No problem. I don’t get to talk about it much-what in the world?”

“Happy birthday: we broke into your file. Couldn’t find your birthday, so just made it the same as Neptune’s.” Neptune shook his head as Kick grabbed the wrapped present with a happy squeal.

“I haven’t had a birthday in 18 years!” Ajax and Keegan both looked at him in horror, but he seemed unfazed, beaming.

“Idiots, all of you.” Neptune sighed. “But th-did you clean the house?”

“And do DISHES?” Kick blurted out.

“Tried.” Keegan admitted. “M made dinner, and Ajax frosted my…semi-successful cake?”

“Semi-successful? I’ll let Scarecrow know if we get food poisoning.” Neptune sighed in annoyance. “…thanks.”

2021, September 22: Konig paused at the door, hearing a thicker drawl than usual in Phillip’s tone. “Yeah, I’m doing well. How’d the hearing go? That well, huh? No, I can’t go to your trial. You’re the one who decided-we ain’t having this argument again, Charlie.” He sighed heavily. “Of course I want better treatment, but you-no, that wasn’t-f*cking stop. I told you I ain’t supporting that. There were other options-f*cking thousands of other options!” A thud sounded, Konig unsure what to do as he held the gift awkwardly in the closed doorway. “You didn’t make a mistake; you made a godforsaken choice to blow up a f*cking kindergarten.” Konig tensed at the snarl that ripped out of Phillip’s throat. “That’s domestic terrorism. You don’t hate me, even if you want to. Whatever either of us do, you’re still the last family I got. Take that back right now. You don’t have the right to say some sh*t like that after what you did. Charlie? Charlie! f*cking-UGH.” Something hit the wall. Konig hesitated a few minutes longer, debating about how to act. He decided not to say anything directly, and knocked. “Not right now.” Konig opened the door anyways. “I said-Konig. What do you want?”

“Nothing. Here.” Phillip took the gift, blinking. “Happy birthday.” He turned to leave.

“Why are you still here?” Konig turned back, staring. “I have been awful to you. It’s purposeful, you shouldn’t be working here. Why are you still here?” Konig straightened, looking at a red-eyed Phillip.

“…I am here because I believe in what we can do. And you’re the only one who has never treated me like a monster for existing. Grüss Gott, Phillip. Schlaft gut.” Konig went to his room, sighing heavily as he took off his hood and closed his eyes. So Phillip had a family member who was a terrorist. How awful that must be.

2021, October 2^nd: “Thomas, watch them.” Elias barked, walking outside to take Kick’s call. Merrick looked at the two teenagers? Young adults? He had no idea what they would be classified as. Only that one was an omega that was mute and looked terrified of him, and the other an alpha blinking at him in confusion.

“Uh…hi.”

“Hi? Who are you?”

“I’m Thomas. I work with your dad.”

“How long?”

“17 years.”

“Why hasn’t he mentioned you, then?” Because Elias didn’t want his kids getting wrapped up in Ghost sh*t.

“I don’t know.”

“What branch are you in?” Proud Navy SEAL.

“Classified.”

“What’s your specialty?” Water combat and field commander.

“Classified.” The alpha glared at him as the omega hesitantly handed him a note.

‘What’s your favorite gun?’

“Favorite gun, huh? SA-805, semi-auto variant for a rifle, M9A1 for a sidepiece.”

“…Those are my favorites.” The alpha said warily.

“Good taste, then.”

“How’d you meet our dad?” 6 months after passing selection, Elias approached him about being part of a wet op strike team.

“Classified.”

“What’s your rank?” Petty Officer, 2^nd class.

“Classified.”

“Is there anything not classified about you?” He hissed in annoyance.

“Plenty.”

“Sorry about that, boys. Thomas, no funny business, right?”

“No, sir.”

“We’re celebrating my birthday and successful mission. Pick your favorite dinner and cake. Can’t have a decent celebration without cake, boys.” Merrick didn’t feel like celebrating sh*t. Rorke was still out there, and killed 2 more Ghosts visiting family last week. Their success in Israel didn’t mean much to him compared to that news. Nevertheless, he ordered food and cake, staying quiet for the rest of the meal while Elias and his eldest son took over the conversation.

2021, October 7^th: “Feliz cumpleaños!” Alejandro laughed, smiling as he hugged Rudy.

“Gracias, amigos! Was this what you were planning?” Rudy gave a sly smirk, the entire base cheering as he got to his seat, a plate of rice and some dulce de leche put in front of him. “What am I to do with you all? Thank you.”

2021, November 12^th: David had been put on rest after getting shot in the arm, so Logan was also benched. It was something their commanding officer had carefully noted in their file: they should NEVER go on a mission without each other. They should never be separated. So here they were, in the mess hall, one able-bodied soldier eating with a relatively minorly injured one. “Sorry, Lo.” Logan waved David off, shaking his head. He should have been more alert. It was one of the first things his dad had hammered in during training. Stay alert, at all times. He should have noticed the man around the right corner.

“How come you’re both benched? You’re the only one hurt.” Came the call from one of their friends. David set a hand on Logan’s shoulder.

“Lo doesn’t know sign, so it’s not that great an idea to have him on the field without someone who can understand him.”

“Bet he’s just a wet blanket. Still pisses himself at night.” Logan rolled his eyes, setting a hand on David’s shoulder as the new beta transfer from out east laughed. Their friend snapped,

“The Walker boys are some of the best that I’ve ever worked with. Why don’t you try living through basically a nuke dropping on your hometown, see if you wet the bed.”

“So he does?” He jeered. Logan kept a hand on David’s shoulder. He wasn’t going to let his big brother start a fight with a still healing bullet wound over some idiot. “Or does the big guy?” Logan’s grip tightened.

“Buddy, you really need to back off.” Their friend warned, moving the food out from in front of Logan.

“Come on. I read the files. These losers can’t do anything without each other. I bet that you had to have the flipdick-” Logan tightened his grip, forcing David back into his seat. “Drag your crying ass to safety, Davie-” Logan had him underneath him, hand on his throat and legs locking his in place. “What the-” David growled,

“Don’t make jokes about that f*cking day, and don’t you DARE belittle my brother. Lo?” He gestured. “Logan says if you want to test how good he is, take it to the mats. But if you insult me again, he’s going to make sure you can’t say anything for a month.”

“Told you to back off.” Their friend sighed as Logan pulled himself off the man, nodding to him in thanks. “No problem. I’ll cover your guard shifts: get some sleep.” They headed out, Logan squeezing David’s hand.

“I’m fine. Just…don’t like being reminded of that day.” Logan raised an eyebrow: he could feel David’s hand shaking. He opened his arms once they were in their room, and David dove in, squeezing Logan at tightly as he could. Oh, it wasn’t for their physical limits they were never separated. It was for their mental limits. David was terrified that if he ever lost track of Logan, he would die. The only person who understood what they had seen would be gone. Oh, sure, dad had seen it, but dad was…well, a Ghost, and their DAD. The man who trained them to be strong. There was no space for being scared with their dad. And Logan couldn’t speak: he needed someone to understand his gestures and communicate for him. He needed someone to tell him what to do when he blind panicked (which happened more than he cared to admit). They needed each other to be stable, to keep fighting. Logan didn’t want to think of what would happen if they were no longer together…

2021, November 21^st: Merrick sighed heavily, looking at Keegan. “Are you guys sure? Like, my family is a bit…weird.”

“Yes, we’re sure, f*cking call them, birthday boy!” Keegan hissed, shoving the phone at him.

“Alright, alright. Here goes.” He pressed the dial button.

“Hola, Mason residence?”

“Aunt Josephina.” He said with a smile.

“Thomas! Feliz cumpleaños.”

“Gracias. Are the rest of them there?”

“Uh…uno momento.” She covered the speaker phone.

“That is a really thick accent. Where’s your mom from?”

“Detroit. My aunt is from Cuba.” Merrick sighed fondly. “One of my uncles is from France, and the other is…either Chicago or New York: I don’t know which. He doesn’t talk much about before…some things.” Before his pack could question him, he heard,

“Thomas! How are you, happy birthday! Thanks, Josephina.”

“Thanks, mom. I’m good, uh, you’re on speaker with my pack. Everybody?”

“Hello, ma’am. I’m Neptune.” Neptune said warily.

“Kick.” He got out, muffled by a muffin he’d just shoved in his mouth.

“I’m Keegan, and Ajax is the occasional snoring you’ll hear.” He explained lightly.

“Oh! Well, hello to everyone. Frank’s at the store for the weekend.”

“Weekend?” Kick got out, puzzled.

“It’s an 8 hour drive: it’s the weekend. And Alex is-oh! Alex, Thomas is on the phone with his pack. He’s being Russian.”

“Da?” Merrick spoke easily in Russian.

“Hey, uncle. How’s things going?”

“Well, actually. Just, uh, short circuited. English should come back soon.”

“Dude, I thought you said your uncle was French or American?” Uncle Alex laughed at Neptune’s confusion, Merrick snorting as well. “No, really, that is perfect Russian, what the heck?” He managed to get out, English slow but coming back,

“I am. Long story short, I’ve got damage. I get triggered, I switch to Russian.”

“That’s all details you get.” Merrick warned before Kick could question him further.

“But, uh…oh, it’s the-yeah. Happy birthday.”

“Thanks, uncle. My pack insisted on at least hearing you guys talk once.” Alex laughed.

“Yeah, sounds right. Listen, why don’t you talk to Karma? I’ve got…things to take care of.”

“No problem. Have fun.”

“It’s me, how are things?” Merrick and Kick were the ones to talk the most, Keegan passing out half-way through the call from exhaustion and Neptune mumbling about paperwork and heading off. Merrick eventually had to say goodbye and just leaned against Kick. Kick raised an eyebrow.

“You good?”

“Yeah. Don’t want to get up. It’s my birthday: I’m doing what I want.”

“Eh, fair.”

2021, December 11^th: Nikolai blinked as Ghost squatted down on the ground. “What’s wrong?”

“Just sitting.” Nikolai did not mention that was NOT, in fact, sitting. “…Takeout for dinner?”

“I was going to cook.”

“Right, on your birthday.” Ghost rolled his eyes, taking Nik’s hand and leading him out. “Gaz, Price?”

“Debriefing from job with Soap. Have you met Soap yet?” Ghost shook his head. “Hmm.”

“Price says it’s a bad idea, considering he’s apparently got issues with omegas, and I’ve got issues with assholes.”

“What makes you say that?”

“He’s gotten into 27 fights with omegas ‘cording to his file Gaz read, and 3 with alphas. No injuries bad enough to get disciplined for, and all equal ranks, but enough to bring attention.” Nik observed,

“You will have to work with him eventually. You’re both part of 141.” Ghost grunted as they continued walking down to Nik’s favorite food place located on base. “I know you like this…lone wolf thing, I do. But it never hurts to have connections outside of your typical circle.” Ghost rolled his eyes, clearly disagreeing as they went in. “I’m serious. Our apartment is always open for you, we are there for you, no matter what. But it won’t be problematic to have business relationships with others.”

“And I’m serious, pops. I don’t do…that.” Nik nodded vaguely. Ghost still had a long way to go before he could really be considered recovered enough to be ‘normal’, if it was even something he could or wanted to achieve. “What do you want?”

“I am-”

“No.” Ghost said with a light huff of amusem*nt. Nik didn’t argue, just ordering and sighing lightly as Ghost paid. Then Ghost got shoved, Nik tightening at the massive woman towering over him as he just looked up with a flat expression. “Issue?”

“You all alone, smelling like that? Where’s your mate?”

“Don’t need one. Shove off.” He finished paying, taking a step back towards Nik half-facing the woman in case she decided to keep making a scene. She glared, but said nothing more. “Solid?” He muttered to Nik, who just nodded. He went forward to grab the finished food when the tall woman’s friend tried to trip Ghost. He just stepped over the leg smoothly, nodding to the workers and heading back when the leg shifted when any normal person would not be able to respond. Ghost was unfazed, easily getting to Nik and taking a quick glance around the room.

“Bet that guy’s his mate: look at them.” Nik’s ears burned as he tried to get Ghost out of the building. Ghost didn’t resist, just following Nik easily as they both shook their heads.

“I hate base.” Ghost mumbled. Nik glanced at him. “That was one of the new lieutenants. f*cking stone age.”

“You should move in with me and Price.” Ghost froze, turning to look at Nik slowly, eyes wide. “There’s plenty of room, rent is cheap. Close to base, but far enough not to have to deal with them constantly.” His eyes were still wide: Nik wasn’t even sure if he was breathing. “Only if you want to, but I am very much favoring this.”

“…f*cking hell, jump on a guy.” Ghost breathed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Let’s get through today, need to think on that one.” Nik smiled. At least he would consider.

Chapter 39: 2022, July

Chapter Text

2022, April 4^th: Horangi spit out the blood that was starting to dribble out of the gash, glaring at the door in front of him. He had said nothing. He couldn’t say anything without his country suffering. There was nothing he could do about his own, and his team was dead already. He should have said no to going out for his birthday. He should have refused. He pushed those doubts from his mind as fast as he could: he could not afford doubt or self-loathing. Instead, he drank in every single detail of the people around him. The way they walked, the accents in the Chinese, whether they hit with their left or right hand first. Which gun they picked up for the finishing shot. What weapon they decided to use to carve into his skin. Their scent, how they scented him after discovering he was an omega. He knew everything about them, and he would never forget. He’d take care of them all before they could hurt anyone outside of this base. Their Korean was atrocious, a mockery of his language on purpose. He knew they could speak it perfectly: it was a breaking strategy. Same when they would drag his teammates in and MAKE HIM WATCH. He wouldn’t cry, just saying softly, “Dream of peace.” It was all he could offer. They gagged him at the second one when he watched unflinchingly as they drove needles into her arteries and let blood squirt out. Onto his own face, her screaming in pain, quickly passing out from blood loss until they forced her awake again and pulled her fingernails off one by one. She begged him to tell them what they wanted. She begged for them to stop: she didn’t know. SHE DIDN’T KNOW. When they had left, she begged him to make the pain stop with her bound hands, glued shut mouth, and he had nodded. He snapped her neck with his legs so she didn’t have to suffer any further. He’d been punished for that.

“I thought she was yours? You killed her yourself.” They had taunted, cutting into his flesh almost lovingly, over the most sensitive parts of his body. He was unclothed, but he didn’t say anything once they removed the gag to question him again. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He only ever said one thing.

“You want a fight? Try harder.” And they did.

2022, June 23^rd: Ghost had noticed Gaz working up a fever every single day for the past few months, starting in January. Right now, he was sleeping on the couch in Price’s apartment, completely knocked out. Nik and Price were on mission in Russia: they’d said they could still come over whenever, so both of them just kind of…hung out at the apartment instead of base. Ghost stared at Gaz’s face, towering over his figure in confusion. He wasn’t sure why Gaz was pushing himself so hard. He remembered what happened last time Gaz had woken up to Ghost right in his face: he had gotten decked point blank. He entered the kitchen. It was Gaz’s birthday, anyways. What kind of cake did Gaz like? Ghost didn’t know. He just made a sponge. Gaz seemed to like spicy foods. He made tamales, setting them on the counter.

“Wha-oh.” Gaz shook his head, stretching as he looked around-and blinked at Ghost in the kitchen. “Hey.”

“Hi.” He gestured to the plate.

“Thanks. Not hungry.” Ghost sat on the chair across from Gaz, setting him with a firm stare.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Ghost’s eyes hardened, him glaring. Gaz glared right back. Right. He was an interrogation expert: Ghost couldn’t intimidate him into being honest.

“…Got it. You want to talk, I’m here.” Gaz rolled his eyes as Ghost stood up.

“I’m just training to keep up.” Ghost frowned as he got some food for himself. Keep up? “Hell. Fine. Price is one of the most impressive snipers in SAS. You’re…you. Even Nik can drive anything and get you anything you need. I’m…just a regular bloke. Nothing special about me. I want to keep up with you lot.” The unspoken reason hung in the air. ‘I don’t want to be left behind.’

“…” Ghost sat next to him, setting a second plate in front of him. “…I ever say my first attempt at interrogation?” Gaz looked at him oddly, shaking his head. “They sh*t themselves and bit off their tongue. I’m scary, Gaz, but I can’t interrogate. And I’m not…good at this.” He gestured generically. Gaz nodded: at least he understood what Ghost meant by that. “I…I’m good at being a soldier, but I’m bad at being…human. I’m still fighting the f*cking fog.” Gaz nodded, but didn’t understand the reference. Ghost wasn’t ready to explain that. “Trying to say…you don’t have anything to prove. You’re my pack, and I won’t leave you anywhere. I will come get you.” Ghost added, “You want to train, okay. But…stop pushing so hard. You’re making yourself sick.”

“…Okay. Tomorrow, want to hit the gym together? Could use a spotter to stop myself.” Ghost nodded with a slight smile as Gaz grabbed the plate. “This hot?”

“Scalding.” Gaz grinned, taking several bites as Ghost slowly ate his own, pulling up the mask just enough to uncover his mouth.

2022, June 29^th: Grim glared up at Rorke. Taken on his way to visit his parents: he was more than pissed. “Happy Birthday, Riddan.”

“Eat sh*t, Rorke.” He spat out with the blood.

“Where’s the new base locations?” He glared up at someone he once respected. “Tell you what. If you can guess how many fingers I’m holding up, I won’t break a finger. You answer my question, you don’t get hurt at all.”

“f*ck you.” He snarled with every ounce of venom he could get out.

“The answer was 3.” Grim scrunched up his face in pain as his pinky finger snapped. “Try again.”

2022, July 5^th: Neptune put in his headphones as he ignored the half of the pack that was in rut. Keegan and him were all that were available for this. “Keegan, where are you? Talk to me.”

“Dead.” He choked out. “Grim’s dead.” sh*t. Keegan would take the deaths the hardest.

“Focus, Keegan.” Neptune snapped. “Did Rorke get that information?”

“f*ck, all of his fingers, a-and his toes, Tune…”

“Keegan. I need you to focus. Look away from the body, and what do you see?” Keegan closed his eyes, shaking his head.

“Um, a laptop-snagging. 2 other bodies-f*ck, Rorke took Grim’s folks.”

“We can’t help the dead, Keegs. Did he get the intel?”

“No, I don’t think so. No evidence to say he did. Evidence to say he didn’t. His parents have burns from a blowtorch.”

“Then he was desperate. Okay. I called in a cleaner crew: they’ll retrieve the bodies so we can bury them-”

“Building’s rigged!” Neptune stopped breathing as it went silent. “sh*t. I got clear. 3 confirmed bodies in the warehouse. It was cleared out when I got here other than a laptop.” Neptune sighed in relief.

“Okay, drop it off at CIA HQ: do not bring it anywhere near the safehouse. It could be a tracker.”

“No Rorke.”

“We’ll track him down. Don’t know how, but we will.”

2022, July 13^th: Price answered the phone while Gaz groaned, rubbing his stomach. “Why not use an aid again?”

“I’m ace: I don’t want to have sex unless it’s to help a friend. Feels gross.”

“Got it. Price.”

“Captain. I-as in Alex and I…would like to join your pack.” He choked, Ghost looking over from the window. Price should ask him what was on his mind that he kept staring out of that thing thinking on. “Captain.”

“N-no, I heard, I just-oh.” He was bouncing in place, grinning stupidly. Ghost snatched the phone.

“You skull-knocked Price: he’s grinning like an idiot. Oh.” He blinked twice, then got a spark in his eye as Price silently celebrated. Did he feel dumb, spinning around like a schoolgirl? Absolutely. But he didn’t have the words to express how happy he was. “Took two years to decide, did it? Guess you’re a henway.” Price paused his excited dancing, Gaz and Nikolai looking at him oddly, too. “20 kilo.” Price snorted, Gaz looking mortified as Nikolai covered his mouth.

“You like puns?” Ghost’s eyes were sparking, Gaz certain he was grinning under his mask.

“Got it. Dad, pops. When can we get there?” Price swelled, swearing his heart would burst.

“Nik?” He looked up, calculating in his mind.

“6 hours if we pack fast.” Price grabbed the phone from Ghost, calling happily,

“We’ll be there in 6 hours, Farah-maybe less.” She laughed on the other side loud enough for Gaz to hear her. “Right, Gaz-”

“I’m solid.” He nodded firmly, noticing Ghost had already disappeared-he yelped when a hand grabbed his shoulder.

“Blue.” Gaz sighed, looking at Ghost with a head shake. “Usual?”

“What?” Did Ghost know what he generally packed??

“Blue shirt, grey shirt, cargo, 2 boxers, Kevlar?”

“…Yeah. Thanks…?” Nik chuckled as Price continued excitedly talking to Farah on the phone.

“It’s unnerving, right?” Gaz nodded, staring after Ghost.

“Appreciate it, though.” Ghost came out with Gaz and his own side pack as Price was still talking.

“Usual?” Nik nodded, tapping Gaz’s shoulder.

“I’m going to prep plane. Get Price.” Gaz nodded, calling a few minutes after Nik left,

“Cap: ETA?” Price blinked.

“Right, right. Uh, be there soon, Farah. Where’s my-” Ghost handed him 2 bags, carrying Gaz and his own. “Thanks, Ghost.” Gaz winced as he tried to stand up, muscles protesting-He yelped as Ghost picked him up, setting him on his back like one would a child who demanded a piggy back ride.

“Ghost!” He demanded, Ghost just glancing up at him with a smirk in his eyes. “You’re in a bloody good mood.”

“Yeah.” Gaz just settled in. Ghost didn’t often engage in physical contact, so he’d take what he could get, even if he felt a bit like a little kid up here. “…Carried my brother like this.” Oh. Ghost’s smile was still reaching his eyes even with a slight sadness in his tone. “He hit my head to make me let him down: I never would.”

“…He was a lucky bloke.” Ghost scoffed.

“To have an annoying big brother?” Gaz chuckled in response as they boarded the plane. So Ghost was an older brother to Tommy. That explained a bit more of his story…

2022, July 14^th: The plane landed, Kate snapping at Graves, “Stay here.”

“That’s a copy, ma’am.” She didn’t really care for Graves: he left a slimy taste in her mouth with him constantly kissing up to Shepard, but he was providing support for this job: she could cope with him being there. Kate landed, body tense. Shepard had sent her here for 141. As the official pack’s theta, she was in high standing professionally and personally. Farah saluted her, Ghost rubbing his shoulder with a glint in his eyes. “Congrats on joining the pack, Farah. Unfortunately, I’m not here to celebrate. I need a spotter for a long-distance drone strike. We have a hit on General Ghorbrani.” Price frowned, Nik tensing.

“Ghorbrani?” He echoed, looking frightened. Price set a hand on his shoulder.

“Son of his second mate.” Kate said softly, Nik looking sick. Ghost raised his left hand, right arm still dangling there.

“I’ll go. Spotting, right?” She nodded.

“I’m sorry, boys. I was trying to get here to celebrate, but-”

“No worries, Kate. We’re still on duty, even in Urkistan.” Price smiled. Nik said softly,

“I should go to Moscow, see what I can find out.”

“I’ll go with you.” Price said bracingly. Nik shook his head.

“Too risky. I’ll be fine, my mate.” Price sighed heavily, but nodded.

“Gaz, we’ll head back to Britain, damage control. Farah?”

“We are here, and will be here as long as we live.” Ghost hopped onto the plane as she briefed him on the situation, eyes locked onto Graves. “Right. Ghost, this is Phillip Graves, CEO of Shadow Company and providing support on this op.”

“Graves?” Ghost echoed softly, Kate noticing Graves was not looking at Ghost. In fact, he was pointedly looking at his hands. Kate frowned. Graves made it a point to always make eye contact or at least offer a hand: he was worried it would be viewed as submission otherwise. Ghost’s eyes went sharp, hardened to an edge Kate had never seen before. “Chief Graves.”

“Sargeant Riley.” They…knew each other: Graves knew him by NAME. Kate ran through all the ways they possibly could have met, or even heard of each other. Ghost called him by rank, which meant it was before late 2014, when Graves had asked to be discharged. And the only situations they would have interacted with each other were training (which tracked, Graves was only in the military for half a year including basic, with one hell of a record), or Graves’ first and only mission: ‘El Gordo’ Roba. Kate’s stomach churned. Oh, sh*t. Oh, this was not good, for either of them. Graves had never even spoken of his time in Mexico, and Ghost had clear trauma she didn’t even know the SURFACE of. Both of their bodies were tensed like springs, Ghost’s eyes burning a hole in Graves’ neck and Graves decidedly not making eye-contact.

“Ghost, and I’m lieutenant.”

“Understood, and I’m commander now.”

“Paramilitary: doesn’t hold the same weight.” Ghost growled. Kate watched Graves open his mouth, then close it again, eyes darkened. He brushed past it with mission details.

“You’ll be on the ground in El Mazrah: I’ll be providing the missile control based on the coordinates you provide.” Ghost nodded curtly. “Laswell, General Shepard, and myself will be on comms.” He nodded curtly again; Kate now distinctly uncomfortable. This would be a long flight with two very awkward men that didn’t trust each other a lick…

Chapter 40: 2022, MW2 prologue

Chapter Text

2022, July 15^th: Ghost’s shoulder was still aching from the bites. Farah had at first hardly bitten, Price having to instruct her on how to do so, and she bit HARD. Alex was far milder, but since he went after her, it burned like a bitch. He pushed past it, wariness raised. He hadn’t expected to see Graves. He hadn’t expected the reminder. So he tried to focus on the mission. “Gold Eagle Actual, Shadow-1 is weapons hot. We’re burning daylight here.”

“Copy, Graves. Stand by.” Who the hell was that? He tried to think back to the list of people who knew about this op. Kate. Graves, his pack…there was another guy, a general…Shepard? Shepard, that’s who. “Laswell, do we have confirmation? And are you sure this meg’s up to this?” Ghost scowled. Shepard was a sexist. Perfect.

“Watcher-1 to Bravo 0-7, you in position?” Maybe he would be if they hadn’t set him 10 clicks out.

“Nearly there.” He stated flatly, continuing forward through the cavern. “Heli incoming.” He muttered into comms, picking up speed as Kate said calmly,

“That’s General Ghorbrani.”

“Right on time. Get up there and let’s see what he’s up to in the middle of nowhere.”

“Eyes on.” He stated, pulling up his scope.

“What do you see?” Laswell asked gently.

“Armed personnel, armor, hardware. All Russian.” Nik had to be having a field day in Moscow as Shepard demanded,

“What are Russians doing with Ghorbrani?” How would Ghost know?

“Supplying Iran. It’s an arms deal.” Kate answered for him. Right, CIA. Ghost wasn’t sure why he kept disregarding that fact.

“You copying this, Shadow-1?”

“Affirmative. Two birds, one stone.”

“We need pos ID on Ghorbrani before we kick this off, boys.”

“Can you identify the general?” Ghost pulling out his sights, looking closer.

“Armed escorts around one VIP Russians are happy to see.”

“It’ll be the last time they do.” Shepard snarled.

“Visual on Ghorbrani.”

“Copy. All stations, target confirmed.” Laswell sounded relieved. Ghost couldn’t blame her: he and Graves had not made that plane ride in very comfortable.

“Shadow-1, you are cleared hot for launch.”

“Roger that, Actual. Ghost.” He tuned into the direct statement from Graves. “You are danger close to the zone. This arrow’s going to pack a punch.”

“Copy. Approved.”

“You-” He snapped, temper flaring slightly,

“Send it.”

“All stations, Shadow-1. Missile is ready for immediate delivery, stand by for launch.” Damn. He was pretty in control: Ghost was fairly impressed, tightening his muscles to not flinch at the impact.

“Bloody f*cking hell. Direct. Target destroyed.”

“Meet at exfil, Bravo 0-7. Good work.” Kate said confidently. Ghost noticed Graves didn’t join them on the flight back to Urkistan. He was glad: he needed some time to process.

2022, August 13^th: Konig paused as he heard the angry shouting inside Phillip’s office. “37 men, General! THIRTY-SEVEN!” Was this about that Irani mission last night? He’d been in Germany as a translator for Oni, but he was aware of what happened there. “I lost so many men-what the hell am I supposed to tell their-I understand that, sir, but-I know that, sir, but-don’t bring her up: I ain’t Charlie!” He was breathing heavily. “I-I know, sir, I apologize, I-and what about Korea? China? How many more people are we going to lose to protect our country? Sir, I…Yes, general. Understood.” Konig waiting until he heard another thud, then opened the door, offering some pancakes. “Those yours?”

“Nein, the mess hall’s.” Phillip sighed. “Are you…wet?” He looked at Konig oddly, then chuckled weakly.

“f*ck, your English is atrocious. Dry as a bone. Pissed as hell. 37 operatives died last night in Iran.” Konig’s eyes widened. That was a total squadron kill. “And I was just ordered to bury it.”

“Ordered?” Phillip scoffed.

“You think I’m my boss? No, I owe a lot of favors to a US General.” Konig nodded slowly, then set a hand on his shoulder.

“Bitte Sie.” Phillip shook his head.

“No need: not your fault.” Konig nodded slowly, and walked out. Phillip was always under so much stress. He didn’t care for it.

Chapter 41: MW2 Prologue

Chapter Text

2022, October 23^rd: Ghost sighed at the massive group of FNGs partying at his favorite pub. Couldn’t he just have one day without FNGs? They were so irritating, with the stink of the alphas or the omegas seeing him being stoic in the corner and bothering him. With betas, it was one or the other: either they didn’t understand he wanted to be left alone, or they wanted to fight him and prove they were ‘the toughest’. Ghost wasn’t the toughest bastard on base. Hell, he was on med leave right now for getting stabbed by a knife before he could get all 7 targets down. That would be Price, the old man that could handle anything. But a captain alpha was harder to challenge than a lieutenant omega, and given his tendency towards more violent takedowns, he couldn’t afford to report any of the fights that happened (and neither could the aggressors). He frowned as a thick Scottish accent cut through. “Whoo! Let’s get pissed!” The Scot led them into battle with the booze, hollering and calling excitedly. Ghost watched him silently from his corner with his own pint, noting the Scot at most drank a quarter as much as everyone else: 2 pints in total. Despite him being even smaller than Ghost, he was definitely an alpha: likely a runt (not that he’d ever use the highly offensive term to someone’s face: he preferred to use non-identity based insults), and an instigator for parties. What was his goal? Ghost glared as he went through the possibilities. There were girls and omegas here. But as everyone got sh*tfaced, and started approaching the ones who had gone a bit too blind, the Scot interrupted and got the sober beta and omega pair, the designated drivers, to get the girls back to base. Ghost noticed he did not approach the omega: just the beta. So he was either sexist or didn’t generally like omegas. When others started getting approached, he split those guys up to the last few sober ones and got them back to base. Ghost frowned behind his mask. Why did the Scot alpha instigate then? The rest of the blinds stumbled back to base with the drivers already gone, the Scot’s words starting to slur together in tiredness as he slid into Ghost’s own corner, grinning. He smelled of whiskey and lemon pepper. Spicy and sweet all at once.

“Hey, mate, pinch a fa*g?” Ghost sighed, pulling out a cigarette. “What’s up, skull? How come you don’t join in the party?” Ghost just glared at him as the Scot struggled to light it, frowning to himself. “Not a social mate, got it. Ah, that was great. Going to regret it tomorrow, but that’s future me problem, in nit?” Ghost just glared as he finally managed to light it, eyes bloodshot. The Scot started choking, waving the cigarette around haphazardly. “Oh, that’s awful!”

“You asked for it.” The Scot grinned.

“Voice matches the mask. Never smoked before, but me cousin does: thought I’d try. Was not worth it…” He sighed, stretching. He was buzzed, but wasn’t black-out drunk. Had to have one heck of a tolerance. Ghost was still nursing his one bourbon that he had at night: it helped him sleep. “Alpha f*cks are going to be right ticked at me. Just got out of basic, that lot. Thought they should have some fun without stressing about safety, eh?” Ghost put out the half-discarded cig. He didn’t smoke himself: just had them for Kate and Price, and the Scot was likely going to burn the place down with how he was manically waving it around. The old man preferred to smoke cigars, but they were too expensive for daily use. Kate was trying and failing to quit, but he’d rather her smoke the no-nicotine ones he had than get some at a gas station: his didn’t feed the nicotine addiction. The Scot kept talking. Ghost kept glaring. Damn, he talked a lot. For 32 minutes straight even with Ghost glaring at him. “What’s your rank? Can tell you’re SAS, but I never saw a sarge wear a mask and not get in trouble.”

“Lieutenant.” Ghost relented. He was too oblivious or stubborn to just not respond: he was too sober to be anything else. Ghost begrudgingly respected him for that, and the fact he could dodge the blind bodies of the bar through the night.

“LT…like it. I’m MacTavish, John. SAS sergeant.” NO. This was Soap? The one member of 141 he had never met, authority issues with omegas? He took Soap’s offered hand, rolling his eyes as Soap shook it vigorously before getting up (noting he was careful not to touch the scent glands even through the gloves, which was strange). “See you around, LT.” Ghost headed out once Soap was out of sight, paying with a sigh and going to the base to get some sleep. He saw Soap enter the base on the opposite side, and he got onto his tablet, looking him up. Just basic skill set and available information: mission reports and history were kept out of. Damn, he was just 21? He joined SAS at EIGHTEEN? That was impressive, even if he acted like a fool. But…had he actually acted like a fool? He was fairly sober, aware of his surroundings, and made sure those FNGs were safe in a possibly dangerous situation. The only thing ‘foolish’ was how much he TALKED.

‘Notice: Do not refer to John MacTavish as John or Johnny. Use of his callsign is strongly advised.’ Interesting to note…

Soap called as everyone entered the bar, “Whoo! Let’s get pissed!” as he glanced around. 3 civilians, one big guy in the back of the bar. Skull mask, raised just enough to drink a bottle of…something, whiskey probably. Soap was not an alcohol expert. Didn’t matter anyways. He stayed alert, politely declining any drinks he was offered, dodging bodies and touches as every nerve was alive. He was here to make sure these people didn’t get taken advantage of for celebrating getting past basic, getting a promotion, or whatever they were here for. He drank some, but he made sure it never leaved his hand, and he never accepted a refill from anyone but the pub workers themselves until his drink was empty. He cut himself off at 2, noticing how drunk a third of the people had already gotten. He waded over to the lady beta, calling, “Oi, Suzie! You mind taking some of these blokes back to base with Elias? They’re a bit too pissed.” She laughed.

“Sure, Soap. See you later.” He gave her a salute with a smile, continuing to party as he kept an eye on the others. There was one alpha who wasn’t getting drunk and was making sloppy passes at a very drunk omega. He tapped another sober beta’s shoulder.

“Oi, laddy. Mind getting him out of here?”

“sh*t. I thought he was joking-Peter!” And so he did the same once half of the rest were half-blacked out, and then hung out with the ones who were way too drunk to keep drinking, but didn’t want to stop drinking. The bloke in the skull mask was still here, staring at him specifically across the pub. Lilac, surprisingly sweet for a big man like this. And Soap honestly couldn’t tell what gender he was: he was big and imposing as an alpha would be, but he smelled so ridiculously sweet and wasn’t nearly as non-assuming as omegas were. So probably a beta? Soap was too tired to really bother figuring it out, more curious about the man who kept staring at him. So he slid into the corner across from this guy, smiling to show he meant no harm and wasn’t planning on starting anything. Based on how tense and angry his glare was, Soap was pretty sure this guy didn’t believe that.

“Hey, mate, pinch a fa*g?” He stared for a bit, then offered a cig with a light sigh. “What’s up, skull? How come you didn’t join in the party?” He continued to glare at him as Soap tried to figure out how to light it. He’d seen Iris do it, shouldn’t be that hard… “Not a social mate, got it. Ah, that was great. Going to regret it tomorrow, but that’s future me problem, in nit?” Soap finally managed to light it, taking a puff-he choked on the acidic taste, trying to spit the smoke out as the cig flew through the air from his desperate inhales to breathe again. How the hell did Iris do that and not get affected?! “Oh, that’s awful!” The man finally spoke, deep and rattling. It made Soap tilt his head lightly, wondering how someone who smoked had such a clear, if bass, voice.

“You asked for it.” He grinned: sassy bloke, wasn’t he?

“Voice matches the mask. Never smoked before, but me cousin does: thought I’d try. Was not worth it…” He sighed, stretching as he took in the table. The guy had exactly one bottle on his table, half empty at practically the same level it had been when Soap got here. Did he have a really light tolerance, then? “Alpha f*cks are going to be right ticked at me. Just got out of basic, that lot. Thought they should have some fun without stressing about safety, eh?” The guy grabbed his hand, Soap tensing-he just grabbed the cig and put it out, instantly letting go. Soap continued to talk, and the guy kept glaring back at him. He didn’t say much of value, just generic things like how his day had gone, favorite color (brown, strangely enough) and why it was his favorite, how the TV show he’d been watching ended on a cliffhanger again. Nothing of value, but still filling the air. This guy was still glaring: almost guaranteed to be SAS, given the mask. Normal army blokes didn’t get the leeway to wear a mask constantly. He then asked as his speech started to switch into Scottish from exhaustion, “What’s your rank? Can tell you’re SAS, but I never saw a sarge wear a mask and not get in trouble.” He blinked slowly, then sighed out,

“Lieutenant.” Lieutenant? Interesting. Soap would have noticed if a lieutenant that lived on base wore a mask constantly. Must have an apartment somewhere or another. The constant staring was impressive, though.

“LT…like it. I’m MacTavish, John. SAS sergeant.” Something seemed to click in his mind at the name, but he took his hand with slight hesitation. So he wasn’t a contact guy, but Soap had impressed him somehow. Cool. He was careful to evade the scent gland spots, though: no need to risk it even through the gloves. “See you around, LT.” Soap headed back to base, yawning. So a lieutenant with a skull mask. He looked through the files online, humming to himself-the humming halted as soon as he found a single file with no picture, and extremely limited information.

‘Simon Riley, AKA Ghost. Omega.’ That massive mountain of a man was an OMEGA? ‘Skills: sniper. Close-quarter combat. Combative infiltration. Intimidation-related interrogation. Tracker. Combatant. Breeching expert.’

“Steaming Jesus…” Soap breathed, heart pounding in his ears. He was TERRIFYING, just on paper as the skillset kept going. He hadn’t seemed that dangerous. A bit standoffish, sure, but no more dangerous than another person on base… ‘Member of Task Force 141: any additional informational request must be brought towards the leader of Task Force 141.’ He…was part of 141, too? How come Soap had never heard of him before, then? ‘Notes: Exclusively goes by Ghost: do not refer to as Simon for your own safety. Ghost does not remove his mask nor allow pictures to be taken. Ghost is to be checked for any more than 3 knives before being permitted inside the barracks.’ Okay. Soap would definitely have to ask around for more information about this guy, considering he'd never heard of him before.

2022, October 25^th: Soap groaned. “What do you mean, you aren’t saying anything?”

“Because he’s bad news. People say he’s got ears everywhere.” The guy hissed, looking around worriedly.

“He’s just a guy, and I’m just asking about him.”

“Listen, I’m telling you, don’t ask questions about him. He’s scary as sh*t. I heard he once tortured a guy for months when he wouldn’t give a straight answer. He’s a stone-cold killer, and no one you should be getting involved with.”

“We’re all f*cking killers, mate.”

“Not like him. He’s ice. I had to frisk him last year, since he’s not allowed more than 3 knives on base. The guy had 27 on him, just kept staring at me when I called his boss to collect them. Gave me the shakes.”

“Aye, why 3? That’s so specific.”

“They tried to make it one: he flat out refused to get out of the debrief room until they upped the number. Not even the captains argue with him, and I’ve only seen him listen to orders from Price or whoever Price tells him to listen to.” Soap sighed as his buddy headed out, rubbing his head. All he’d learn in the 2 days is people were scared stiff of this bastard…

“Seat taken?” Soap looked up at Gaz, and smiled.

“No, it’s not taken. How you been?”

“Solid: need you to stop asking about Ghost.” Soap blinked up at him, confused.

“Why?”

“Classified: you’re stirring a bee’s nest. You’ll learn when you learn.”

“…Aye, I’ll stop asking. Not like I’m getting anything, anyways.” He grumbled. Gaz nodded, eating in silence as Soap talked his ear off, then headed back to the apartment. Ghost jerked to look at him from the window.

“Really like that spot, eh?” He nodded. “Talked to Soap: he’s stopping.” He nodded.

“Thanks.” Gaz nodded. “Almost healed.”

“Bet you’re tickled.” Ghost nodded. “Mind if I sit?”

“Sure.” He scooted a bit so Gaz could join him, laying his head on Ghost’s shoulder. “…Thanks.”

“No sweat.”

Chapter 42: 2022, October 28th-29th

Chapter Text

2022, October 28^th: Ghost was finally healed, Nik giving him the ‘go ahead’ to get back into active duty. As night fell, he got called in by Kate and General Shepard to get someone named Hassan. AQ terrorist. He headed out as Shepard debriefed him, mostly ignoring the bossy alpha who was using undertones that made his jaws grate together. “Wheels-up in 5, meg.”

“Roger.” He said flatly, trying to keep most of the frustration out of his tone. He was at least partially successful.

“Marines are loading in now. You and the Sergeant are leading the way on this.”

“Sergeant?” He echoed, puzzled. What sergeant?

“Soap MacTavish. He takes point.” He saw the Scotsman, eyes no longer bloodshot, hands steady, and face grinning, approach. The man who had been inquiring into his life in detail. He tensed as Soap tapped his shoulder lightly, saying cheerfully,

“Let’s get ourselves a win, yeah, LT? Save you a seat, sir.” And charge off. Ghost stared, then swore quietly,

“f*cking hell.”

“Ghost, you copy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Any issues?” About 400.

“Negative, sir. Out here.” He did end up sitting next to Soap, lemon pepper even stronger now. “How long Price know you?”

“Little over 2 years, mate. You?”

“6. Ghost.”

“Soap.” They shook hands again. “Pleasure to meet you sober.” As if he’d been drunk when they’d met before…Ghost just grunted in response. “And I follow you, LT, even if I’ll push.” Weird. Ghost could tell by the way he kept glancing around them, kept checking everyone else (most of them omegas, since Price preferred working with them). He didn’t DO omegas. Betas were fine: Gaz and him worked together quite a few times and they’d never had an issue, seemed to get along pretty well. But he also didn’t seem to have problems with Ghost leading. Was it just a size thing? Ghost wasn’t sure, but it wouldn’t be a shock.

Soap was on high alert with the strong-willed omega next to him, accompanied by at least half of the plane also being omegas. He couldn’t stop his scent from leaking: he’d never been good at concealing it, not that he’d ever really tried to learn how to do such. Ghost made him nervous, but it wasn’t really because of the fear he’d instilled in the others, or even Gaz warning him not to look into him. Ghost was a brutal and cruel omega, everything that classified Soap’s interactions with them out in the open for anyone to know and witness. They would get there soon enough, he comforted himself. Ghost reiterated briskly, “Bravo team offloads here: Charlie team stays onboard to land downrange. Both teams meet in the middle. Execute authority is authorized, but remember: we want Hassan alive, but this is capture or kill.” People unloaded, and Soap heard Ghost snap as his scent spiked in worry, “Keep up, Soap!” He joined up, the smell not as stifling outside of the plane. Soap flipped on his NV goggles, taking a deep breath. Desert-y.

“Razor-1, all Bravo deployed. Moving to secondary HLZ.” He followed Ghost easily, the big man surprisingly swift. Well, he wasn’t exactly…big: the same size than most betas. He just was bigger than him and bigger than any omega Soap had ever seen. “All stations: Razor-1 is bracketed, we’re getting lit! Incoming, Flares, FLARES!” The first missile missed. The second hit, Soap’s eyes hardening as Ghost made them stop.

“Charlie, what’s your status? Charlie.”

“Bravo, Charlie is immobile, multiple critical! We’re taking effective fire!”

“Charlie, we’re moving to building 1, hold tight.” Soap snapped, anger spiking his scent again,

“LT, we need to secure the crash site now!”

“First we clear for Hassan: takes heat off Charlie. Then we secure the crash. Clear?” Soap bristled. They were going to die.

“Roger.” Ghost gave him a glance, but led the way: Soap followed the cold man. And did what he was best at: cleaning house. The first house took 25 seconds, the second took 40 due to complications with enemies. No Hassan in sight or scent.

“Rocket down, building secure, no Hassan.”

“Solid copy, time to hit the crash.” Soap joined him quickly, Ghost ordering calmly and briskly, “Soap, we move to the crash, help the wounded. Rest of you hold and cover.” Soap was covering as the beta pilot was panicking, Ghost snapping angrily,

“Get your jaw on straight, keep pressure on that wound! Soap, tree line!”

“Called it, LT.” Ghost joined him with cover fire. He was a good shot, but his scent did not match his current: it was LILAC, of all f*cking things for a hardened vet to smell like. Soap shook his head clear. Scents were misleading. He refocused. They secured the site then barked for 7’s to move up to the crash site. “We should fall back to-”

“Negative. We clear this position and push. If Hassan’s still here, he’s ahead.” Soap nodded, Ghost calling in air support, and they pulled up with a whole f*cking army before air support got there. Ghost started heading out before he called,

“All clear for casualty pickup. Let’s move up.” Soap followed Ghost, alarmed by how calm he was right now. Soap was helping Ghost address the snipers on the roof as people continued going forward, but there were too many: Ghost called an air strike. Soap laughed lightly as they went forward towards the remaining enemies and what was left of the building.

“Thank f*ck for air support, aye?”

“Yeah, hope Hassan’s in one piece.” Soap’s blood turned cold when Ghost growled,

“Several pieces ’ll do.” Ghost terrified him. Though based on rumors and what he’d heard from others, Soap wasn’t the only one scared of the man. “Easier to find that way. Bravo, move up, I want that building locked down. Find Hassan, dead or alive.” He did what he was good at, shaking off the icy feeling left from Ghost’s words that caused no shift in his scent. None of this had fazed him in the slightest, and Soap had never worked with someone who hadn’t been the slightest bit affected by warfare. No Hassan, anywhere in the building. “Ops center.” Soap gestured to the chair.

“Hassan’s uni. He was here.” Ghost observed it then stated blandly,

“Lost him when we secured the crash.” Soap actually bristled.

“You saying we shouldn’t have helped?” Ghost locked eyes, the ice in the brown pools chilling Soap’s blood.

“Choices have consequences.”

“Bravo, got movement.”

“On the way.” Ghost disappeared, Soap strangling the urge to punch Ghost at the callousness. Instead, he hissed,

“If Hassan’s gone, what the hell are they protecting?” Ghost considered this, pausing just long enough to be noticed.

“Let’s find out.” They entered a warehouse, that wasn’t on intel. Soap opened a shipping container once it was cleared.

“What the f*ck is this? It’s in English.” He stared at the missile launcher.

“Ballistic missiles?”

“It’s a mobile launcher.” Ghost looked at him, lilac scent shifting for the first time to something much, much stronger.

“These’ll go 1,000 miles”

“At least. 7-6, get us to Laswell.” Soap stared at the mark of America, and Ghost told Laswell, Soap just barely noting the man’s hands shake. So he did feel emotions after all. Shepard ordered them to destroy the missiles before exfil, which seemed like a dumb idea, but orders from a general were orders from a general, he supposed…

2022, October 29^th: Gaz tapped comms as the beep sounded, listening in. “Price.”

“Laswell.” The hell was Kate contacting them mid-mission for, and calling Price anything but John?

“I’m calling you into an adjacent mission. AQ’s got American missiles that Ghost and Soap just found.”

“Those two worked together?” He hoped they didn’t get into a physical fight, but he couldn’t really see it ending another way. At least he now had an explanation for the increasing tension he was sensing from his packmate through the bond.

“And will be for the foreseeable future.”

“What’s your ETA?”

“Less than an hour.” sh*t, she was dead serious. This was BAD. “Where are you now?”

“Canals, under a bridge. Watching an AQ boat.”

“It carrying a missile container?”

“Negative, not this one.”

“Let’s hope it leads us to the one that does.” She sounded panicked for once.

“I’ll be in touch. Gaz, set?” He heard the crackle.

“Solid, heard.”

“Let’s get after it, then.” They went silent, and Gaz hung beside Price as he tapped comms again. “In position, Laswell.”

“Copy, Price. What do you got?”

“AQ loading cargo into a barge.”

“That’s the target. Get on board and find out who they’re working with.”

“Rog. Sentries on perimeter.” Gaz nodded as he looked through the sight.

“Guards all over the docks.”

“You’ll need to take them out to get to the barge. You two get to work, out.”

“I’m outside, clean the docks.” Price smirked slightly. “Stay quiet.” Gaz smirked back. As if he really ever talked much. “Meet you at the barge.” Gaz set a hand on Price’s shoulder.

“Check. On you, cap.” Gaz had gotten pretty good at staying quiet and unseen: Ghost had been teaching him tricks in order to prank Alex and Price (Nik had too much PTSD, no one purposely scared him), which directly translated into mission skills.

“Give me a sitrep.”

“Making our way to the barge, burying AQ at sea.” Price answered.

“Move fast: we may not have much time.” She really was stressed. He got the last one’s throat as he called,

“AQ clear.”

“Good on you, Gaz.”

“Almost there.” He joined Price as he called,

“Laswell, boarding now.”

“Tell me what you find.” Gaz frowned: what language was that? It sounded Italian.

“Listen: Spanish.” Gaz nodded as Price glanced at him. They breached, and Price checked one of their necks. “Las Almas: Mexican Cartel.” Gaz blinked rapidly.

“The hell are they doing here?” Price shrugged.

“Let’s ask. Laswell, Iran’s using the cartel for transport.”

“Gimme a name.”

“Las Almas.”

“Narcos?” She sounded shocked and disturbed.

“Stand by.” They kept clearing the barge, Price informing Kate, “All narcos.” Gaz swiped a phone, cracking the lock fairly easily (who puts 4321?) and checking. Spanish, Spanish… “Gaz?”

“LZ for a meeting: Cartel and AQ.” Price looked it over.

“Laswell, find Café Gracht: something’s about to go down.”

“When?”

“1 hour.” Kate nodded.

“I’ll be there, stay low.”

“Copy.” They got there, Gaz shaking Laswell’s hand as he applied blocker under his nose as Price got into position.

“2 at 3 o’clock table. One cartel, one Irani.”

“Cozy.”

“What are they up to?”

“Transaction, electronic.”

“Paying cartel for something?” Gaz offered. Kate nodded.

“Let’s find out what.”

“Security?” Price muttered,

“Several.”

“Got it.”

“Don’t take all the fun, Gaz.” Price chuckled softly.

“Copy, coming now.” Kate slipped him a syringe, calmly saying,

“Non-lethal: knocks them out.”

“CIA sh*t.” He mumbled, making Kate scoff.

“Welcome to my world. Needle on the guards, roll up our cartel friend.” Gaz raised an eyebrow. “Exfil. Say when. 0-6, sitrep.”

“Talking timeline. Tonight.”

“Stay on them: we need to know what and where.”

“Copy.” Kate didn’t usually explain so much: this must really be eating at her. Granted, it was her country’s missiles. Gaz took out one of the guards, and Price said with audible strain,

“Cargo’s human: VIP bound for the US.”

“Who?”

“Major Hassan Zyani.” Gaz smelled the sour candy scent pour off of Kate for a split second before she could get it under control.

“He’s in Mexico.”

“If Hassan gets a missile anywhere near the US, there’ll be a death toll. Gaz, come get a distraction.” He complied, blinking once at the grenade. “It’ll work.” Guess they were going loud.

“Panic spreads, the cartel will move.”

“That’s when I come in.”

“Loud in 3.” It went pretty smoothly, considering how stressed the three of them were, getting into the car with Kate.

“Nice work, boys. We need to find where they’re moving Hassan and intercept.”

“We’ll wake him up and have a chat.”

“I’ll take point: it’s my country, and I can be very persuasive.” Gaz nodded. Gaz was impressed: he broke in 40 minutes, and Kate swore, dialing a number and putting it on speaker. “Colonel Vargas-” The Mexican accent was strong, even in the chuckle.

“Station Chief Laswell. I thought we were on first name basis. This is serious?”

“It is. I need your help, Alejandro.” Gaz didn’t know that name. “The Las Almas cartel is smuggling an Iranian terrorist over the border.” The man’s voice was tense as he said,

“Terrorists don’t cross the southern border, Kate.”

“We know that, they know that, and that’s exactly why they’re going to do it. I need you to stop it, before he gets over the border.” The man sighed.

“Who’s my target?”

“Major Hassan Zyani.” He chuckled.

“Rudy and I will handle it. When?”

“Tonight.”

“Short notice. I like it.” Gaz raised an eyebrow as she rubbed her head anxiously.

“Who is he?”

“Mexican Special Forces, the Los Vaqueros team. He’s their leader, and his mate’s the second in command.” Price frowned.

“Los Vaqueros has an omega leader. His alpha’s second?”

“They’re both omegas, John. It happens.” Price blinked rapidly, then shrugged.

“If that’s their preference. Now, what the hell is happening with Ghost?”

Ghost answered the phone. “Ghost.” Gaz spoke softly.

“We can feel your stress from here, mate.” He scowled, a soft snarl coming out on accident.

“Soap’s a pain in my ass.” The alpha had decidedly refused to sleep, despite desperately needing it. He was pacing in silence, which even Ghost could tell wasn’t a natural state for him, and his scent was unbearably strong: Ghost didn’t have any spare scent blocker since Gaz had taken his last jar. Price sighed.

“I told you he had issues with omegas, Ghost.” He snapped,

“You said authority issues. That’s not the problem. He’s making me fog up because of his damn scent.” Soap was in the restroom right now; Ghost having ordered him to wash some of that ungodly stench off so he could at least think.

“That doesn’t make sense, mate: everything I’ve seen says it’s authority.”

“It ISN’T, but I don’t f*cking know what it is.” Price snapped,

“Well, get it sorted with him.” There was a long pause for Price, then he sighed worriedly, making Ghost tense: that wasn’t a good sign. “It’s not ideal, but I’m sending you to Las Almas.” Mexico? His breathing quickened. “You’re working with omegas Kate’s dealt with before for a significant amount of time: Colonel Vargas and his second, Rodolfo Parra.”

“I don’t like Mexico, dad.” Ghost forced out as calm as he could make it sound.

“I know, but you two are the closest to get there and sort it.” Ghost scowled in frustration. “I’m sorry, Ghost.” He said softly as Soap came out of the restroom; scent at least tolerable for the most part. “I’ll send someone over as soon as I can to get you out of there: I know it’s a lot to ask.”

“…Copy, sir.” He hung up, a deep scowl etched onto his face. “Get your jaw on straight, Soap.”

Yes, sir.” He said sheepishly.

Chapter 43: 2022, October 30th

Chapter Text

2022, October 30^th: “Colonel Kilgore. I’ve got a special assignment for ya’ll.” His accent was stronger: something was wrong. Konig stopped as the others boarded for Mexico. Phillip gestured to his office, Konig joining him inside in quiet. “Damn, he’s going to be pissed…” Phillip took a deep breath. “I need you to go to China. There’s a red cell there, have had 10 Korean prisoners for over a year: they’ve been through who the hell knows what for specific information they haven’t given up yet. I don’t know if they’re alive, but I was ordered not to move on them.”

“Wassen?” Konig said dumbly, mind feeling like it was churning peanut butter.

“I…knew they were there, and I keep…BEGGING him to let me send someone, but-”

“You KNEW there were terrorists torturing people?” Konig said lowly.

“I-the situation is very nuanced-”

“They are terrorists: who the Scheiße told you NOT to move on them?!” Konig stopped himself as he was starting to raise his voice, even as his blood was boiling, as Phillip looked petrified and sick. “…What can you give me?”

“…Not much. A sniper rifle, location, and exfil. Take as much ammo as you need. Again, I doubt any of those…those guys are alive. If any are, bring them back: I’ll make sure they get physically well again.” Konig nodded stiffly. “Konig, I’m about to do some…bad things, and what I just told you is going to put a target on my back on top of that. Can I trust you with this?” Konig hesitated. Oh, Phillip could trust him. Konig wasn’t sure if he could trust Phillip. He gritted his teeth. Phillip had been so genuine when he first extended that invitation. He had been mostly honest (with Konig at least) about what he couldn’t share due to ‘national security’.

“I will take care of it.” Phillip smiled, a much older expression than such a young man should have, and he patted Konig’s arm as he headed out, leaving a single file on his desk. Konig picked it up, and set to reading the ‘conveniently translated to German’ file. Kim Hong-Jin, AKA Horangi. Captain, extremely talented interrogator and HVT exfil specialist…and there was an airstrike scheduled tomorrow on the base the 10 were currently held. Scheiße.

Soap walked out first, Ghost’s scent overwhelming him and making his own spike. Something had pissed Ghost off: Soap hoped it wasn’t his fault. Alejandro Vargas was right there, the same size as Ghost somehow, nodding curtly. “Alejandro?”

“Sargeant MacTavish.”

“Call me Soap.” He nodded back, Alejandro turning to Ghost.

“Lieutenant. Kate says they call you Ghost.” Soap called, hoping to see how Ghost ACTUALLY responded to being called Simon,

“Actually, I think he prefers to be called-”

“That’ll do.” Ghost barked, Soap quailing a bit at the icy glare.

“Welcome to the city of souls.” Alejandro led the way, smelling of basil and lavender: was he actively in heat right now? It made Soap even more on edge, the slightly clumsy way he was walking but still with strong purpose. He tried to focus on the mission.

“I’ve never been to Mexico.” Alejandro chuckled.

“This isn’t Mexico. This is Las Almas.” What did that mean?? Ghost somewhat relaxed at the comment and moved forward, Soap trailing him closely and to the side, uncomfortable with the Hispanic omega’s smell being so strong.

“Shepard’s contractors are inbound to reinforce, they’re bringing hardware and need room.” Alejandro nodded, scent spiking. Irritation? Worry? Soap wished he’d paid more attention to Casper’s lessons on reading people.

“So long as they respect my men, my base is their base.”

“Good. Where’s Hassan?” Alejandro gestured to a car, where a very small omega was. Like, that was the smallest one Soap had ever seen: didn’t fully reach 150 cm.

“Cartel safe-house, 10 clicks from here. Get in.” He ordered his men; Soap already dizzy from all the omegas as he tried to stay

focused. No one was touching him. He followed orders, but evaded even the most basic touches. They weren’t touching him: he was fine: this was FINE. The small man tensed as he sat down, saying something quietly in Spanish while glancing at both Soap and Ghost. (He smells strong, and I’m scared of ghosts). “This is my second in command, Sargeant Major Rodolfo Parra. You know Spanish?” Soap shook his head, stress spiking again. “You will.” Ghost asked abruptly,

“Got scent blocker?” Rodolfo offered a near empty jar.

“That is all that’s left.” Ghost handed it back.

“Keep it: scent sensitive, right?” Rodolfo nodded, gripping the wheel tightly. Las Almas was f*cked. Soap could feel Rodolfo getting more triggered the longer he was in the car, scent already stronger due to him ALSO being in heat, and the more triggered he got, the more triggered Soap got, and all he could smell was omega. Apparently, the Los Vaqueros group was all omegas, people desperate to protect their home and get away from the trauma of forced relationships., but unable to join the official army due to sexism. Soap watched them all carefully, extremely uneasy with being the only alpha here as far as he could tell. Ghost was scanning the area with the same cold stare as always, body stiff as a statue as Alejandro said something in Spanish, then began laying out the plan. Ghost’s smell seemed to be getting stronger as well.

“White truck, 4 armed-” He tensed as Ghost had his hand on his pistol as soon as Soap spoke. Alejandro said quickly,

“Hey, tranquilo. Easy. It’s normal here.” Ghost’s mask shifted: Soap was certain he was gritting his teeth. “Guns on the street is jurisdiction of the police.” Ghost snarled out,

“The police?”

“Well, Las Almas has a very serious problem, and I’d like you to watch your tone.” Ghost didn’t apologize, but his gaze got harder somehow. Soap was certain it would cut diamond at this point. “There are few here to uphold the law, and many who resist corruption disappear.” Soap frowned, asking to try and break his strain,

“What about the military?”

“Because we are well-trained, soldiers are recruited by the narcos-”

“Why not you?” Ghost barked, Alejandro scowling.

“Your TONE is not appreciated, senior Ghost. We grew up here. They call our group the Los Vaqueros, cowboys. We love this place, and we will die fighting for it.” Soap’s head jerked. Was that the same kind of mask Ghost was wearing, right now, selling balloons and guns to kids??

“Kids, guns, and balloons. That’s a bloody new one.” He mumbled.

“Narcos use generosity to win over the people.”

“Even kids?” The concept was sickening. Rodolfo finally spoke, a bitterness in his tone even stronger than Alejandro’s own.

“Especially the children.” Soap felt even sicker when he saw bodies covered in sheets.

“The hell is that?”

“Narcomantas.” Alejandro scowled out. Rodolfo explained in English, far more hesitant than Alejandro had been so far,

“Cartel cloths. Messages from El Sin Nombre, warnings and marking territory.”

“Our streets are laced with death.”

“Who’s-” Ghost paused, forcibly softening his harsh tone to a half-bark, “-Sin Nombre?”

“El Sin Nombre. The Nameless.” Alejandro scoffed in frustration. “Leader of the Las Almas cartel. He stepped up around when Roba was taken out.” Soap tensed as Ghost did, coiled like a spring. Alejandro continued, seemingly not noticing while Rodolfo certainly had, “We’ve tried to hunt him down for years. No one knows who he is. But he is everywhere. And this is a challenge.”

“But Los Vaqueros like challenges.” Rodolfo finished firmly, glancing at Ghost. Soap noticed how his eyes had gone…unfocused, as if he was no longer in the car. “With your mask, you will fit in well here, Ghost.” Soap ran his fingers across his throat rapidly, but Ghost had merely faced the mirror to make direct eye contact while Alejandro said something, then added in English,

“Checkpoint, it’s the army. Turn right, we’ll go around.”

“Why?” Soap asked, feeling a bit stupid.

“Some troops are in the pocket of El Sin Nombre. Like we said: he is everywhere. The cartel is hiding Hassan in the village across the river. Let’s hope he’s still there.” They went fast, Ghost no longer speaking but on high alert. Soap wondered what had him so…weird here. Soap asked as they cleared the area,

“What happened to the families here?”

“Gone. The cartel brings violence, so they leave. Vamos.”

“Where’s your family, Al?” Alejandro looked at him oddly at the nickname, but he smiled softly.

“Close. But I keep him a secret, for his protection. Concealment deployed.” They kept moving. Hassan wasn’t here, but the army that was trying to kill them was. Ghost still wasn’t speaking, and his scent was a bit…off. Wilder? “f*ck.”

“What’s happening?”

“Cartel paid army men. We’re covering my men while they get out: Rudy is securing our escape route as best he can.” It was a sh*tshow. “Men are clear!”

“Let’s move!” They jumped out the window, Rodolfo waiting for them with cover fire.

“Vamos, straight the bridge! Ghost, cover!” He complied in dead silence. “Ale, Soap, vamos.”

“You know these trails?”

“Very well, but Rudy knows them even better. No one can traverse them as quickly. Follow close: the ground is uneven.” Rudy spoke Spanish rapidly. “The mountain is blocking comms: I hope the message got out.” They kept scaling the mountain, Soap noticing Ghost’s scent again didn’t shift a single bit from what it had been in the car. “We need to get to the river-hear that?”

“Heli.” Soap noted.

“Dig in, watch the ridges. Once it’s clear, push forward. The river is nearby. We jump here: don’t lose your weapon!” Oh, f*ck. Soap gripped his gun tightly and leapt. They got to the bridge, and Graves pulled them out. Ghost tensed, but Graves wasn’t making eye contact with him: he locked eyes with every other person, offering a hand with a smile.

“Phillip Graves at ya’lls service.”

“Soap.” He said easily. Ale stated,

“Colonel Vargas, this is Sargeant Major Parra.”

“Pleasure’s mine. Ril-”

“Ghost.” He snarled darkly, Alejandro and Rudy both jumping at the sound.

“Right, right, sorry.” The two Mexican omegas went quiet as Ghost took over the talk, Graves oddly awkward with him but chill with the others. Soap backed away from them. Rodolfo went back to Las Almas, for safety reasons, he said, looking at Soap warily. It wasn’t personal, it really wasn’t. He just…couldn’t. They got a hit on Hassan, and headed there. Ghost took command, glaring at Soap but now strangely in control again, as if whatever was pissing him off beyond words was gone except for Soap himself. Soap didn’t try to explain what happened: he didn’t need to explain to his commander, much less an LT, even if he highly respected both of them. The Hassan extraction was a mess: they got ambushed twice, but they got him. But they couldn’t keep him or get him to talk. Graves was too aggressive: Alejandro was getting stressed, and Ghost was zoning out of the situation once again. Soap looked at Ghost as the omega said softly,

“We get anything from his phone?” Soap deferred to him, heckles raised. He was bristling in frustration. He didn’t join SAS and 141 to do NOTHING with a terrorist RIGHT THERE. Then he heard something strange, on the comms for 141.

“Ghost, you solid?” Price asked under a very flimsy guise of casualness.

“Yes, sir.”

“You sure?”

“…Get me out of f*cking Mexico and away from Graves.” He half-snapped in a low, half-mumbled tone.

“Graves is there? Kate-”

“I didn’t know, John. I’ll see if I can’t get you a place on Ale’s base: it’ll be more secure than anywhere else.” Alejandro checked his phone as she was talking, and gave Ghost a nod. “I can’t do anything about Graves being there, but I’ll try to get Gaz out there instead-”

“No.” Ghost snapped lowly. “Keep me and Soap in. No one else.” What the f*ck happened to Ghost in Mexico?? “…Didn’t mean to snap, Laswell.” She said easily,

“You’re stressed: it’s understandable. Do it again, and we’ll see if I still think that.”

“Copy. Ghost out.” He took a deep breath, glancing at Soap. Soap blinked at him.

“…So we’re staying on…base?” Ghost nodded curtly. Great for Ghost: not great for Soap…

Chapter 44: 2022, October 31st

Chapter Text

2022, October 31^st: Konig looked through the sniper’s gauge from the ridge. He counted 34 targets: one entered an inner room every 3 hours. Only one: there was never 2 in the room at the same time. He took a steadying breath, shifting his grip on the rifle, and got closer. There wasn’t much to note about the base itself: nondescript as it could get. Likely was taken from the military somehow. He paused at the door, taking once last deep inhale. Let’s play. He kicked the door in, shooting 2 of them and going deeper. He stayed calm. There may be someone alive, frightened, and injured. He may not be the BEST thing for people to see after who-knows-how-long imprisonment and torture, but he could get whoever lived out. It was mechanical and methodical until he broke in the door. The smell was ripe, rotting flesh making Konig’s eyes water. 9 bodies. 8 were rotting, broken, barely registering as human. Konig was certain they weren’t alive. One was naked, scars covering the body along with fresh wounds and putrid…mush on it. The wounds were oozing out black and green infections, face mangled and one side of his lips torn off, exposing his sharp teeth and gums on the top of his jaws. An old injury: this was Horangi. Konig could make out his ‘tiger stripes’ Phillip’s file had notated specifically under all the filth: purposeful scars of an unknown origin. He was half-limp on a chair, a chain wrapped around his neck: a choker collar. Konig had seen them used on humans before: they had advised mama to use one on him when he presented. Because of mama, he had never felt the biting steel himself. His legs were strapped down, arms pinned behind his back-attached to the choker. If he moved his arms, he got choked. He was even gagged with some kind of fabric: it looked like it had once belonged on a uniform. Konig checked the hallway: they weren’t here yet. He knelt in front of the man, shaking hands pressing into his neck. Steady pulse: he was alive. How the f*ck was he alive? The man’s eyes jerked opened, breath sharpening as he took in Konig. “I’m here to get you out. Can you move?” Horangi nodded, and Konig removed the gag-he jerked back as Horangi tried to bite him, choking himself.

“Fake rescue? REALLY?” Fake? Konig suddenly realized Horangi had been in this situation for a very long time. He wouldn’t believe anything out of anyone’s mouth out of sheer survival instinct. “Try harder.” Konig huffed, carefully removing the choker and collar keeping him bound, evading his teeth with quick movements.

“Do not bite me, Scheiße. I am not here to ask.”

“Torture, call it what it is!” He snapped angrily but weakly. “And you can’t: it is impossible to torture someone who has nothing left to take.” Konig unbound his leg-he grunted as it rammed into his chest, Horangi definitely cursing in Korean. “You’re a f*cking wall!” Konig saw Horangi’s eyes look up, and he swiveled, putting 2 bullets into the target’s head.

“And they said I could not be a sniper…” He mumbled, turning back to his task.

“Where’s your team, mister ‘rescuer’?”

“There is none. Exfil is 5 minutes out, and an air strike is coming in 7.”

“What?” Konig continued flatly,

“People are…cleaning up messes.” He unbound Horangi’s hands last, the man wincing in pain as they went limp.

“I’m a mess? Tell the f*ckers that sold my team out that!” He grabbed his throat, wincing at the angry growl. How long had he gone without water? Konig nervously twiddled his fingers as Horangi glared at him.

“Bitte, we have to go.” Horangi was to his feet-he hit the ground, body spasming as he whimpered pitifully. Despite all his (completely reasonable thus far) rage, he was still very, very injured. Konig stood to his full height as Horangi struggled to his feet. He was short. Very, very short. Horangi barely came to the bottom of his ribs, where most came to at least the middle of his chest. He also was in no state to try and exfil. Konig gave him his sidearm, a .45. Horangi stared at it, then checked it over and co*cked it. There was no time to bandage him: Konig just picked him up, Horangi yelping in pain and indignation. “I know it hurts, stay quiet.” He said softly, raising his rifle with Horangi now on his shoulder. “Cover my back.”

“Eo.” Konig hoped that meant ‘okay’. “Have a mask?”

“Back pocket, my right.” He always carried a spare, in case someone who was self-conscious about facial scars lost or needed a mask. Horangi got into his pocket with a series of grunts and a few groans, then settled back down, firing twice. Konig heard a thud behind him. “Ammo is vest, front left.”

“Copy.” Now to get out without being shot and keeping Horangi-who was actively bleeding out on Konig’s shoulder-alive. He wished he knew something about medical: he’d never studied it since people were usually too scared of him to even let him try. He got to the heli, the pilot calling as they took off,

“Cut it close, ap-sir!” Konig could forgive the slipup: He’d only worked with Klaus twice before, and he almost exclusively called people by their genders in a joking manner. When Konig had glared at him for 2 hours after referring to him as ‘apex’, Klaus had apologized and tried to call him sir instead.

“Where’s Oz?”

“Running Mexico, same with the rest. He’s also been speaking Arab?”

“-ic. Arabic.” Konig corrected softly, setting Horangi-the guy was unconscious now-on the ground.

“Who the f*ck is that?”

“Horangi. Is Vega on site?”

“Contacting her now. Vega, got one hell of an injured evac. Not the colonel, some…tiny…alpha? Yeah, alpha.” No, Horangi wasn’t an alpha. Konig wouldn’t be surprised to find no one else knew, but he could see the thumb, ripped at on wood to keep it rounded. He carefully put a band-aid over it. Korea didn’t accept anything but alphas in their military. If anyone found out…Konig didn’t want to imagine the result. “Good, ETA 12 hours. Konig, Oz is patching you through to Vega on comm 5, she’ll walk you through first treatment. If he lived through whatever the hell happened, he’s damn tough.” And extremely dangerous was the unspoken additive both of them were thinking. A woman spoke through comms.

“Colonel?”

“Vega, ja, I hear.”

“First, get the emergency care kit located against the docking wall.” Konig grabbed the pack in silence. They were going to patch Captain Horangi up to be brand new, best they could.

Gaz listened to Kate explain what they were doing in Spain, Kate slightly calmer. “I’ll watch the coast for movement and provide exfil by boat.” Price half protested,

“You shouldn’t be alone out there, Kate. One is none.”

“3’s already a crowd. We have no jurisdiction here, John. We roll low and slow. This is unauthorized recon by fire. We’re off the books.” They got on land easily enough, Kate called, “Watcher-1 to Bravo, I’m in position, half a click off the coast. Structures are visible. What’s your status?” Gaz and Price killed the two snipers watching, Price filling Kate in as they traveled.

“Keep low and slow: we don’t need to fight them. Moving, Laswell. Cargo on ground.”

“Missiles?”

“Negative, too small.” They kept crawling forward, Price naturally blending into the area as he spoke low to Kate over radio.

“What’s the common ground between cartel and terrorist?” Gaz asked.

“New blood and territory. They attract the youth.” Kate said casually with a hint of bitterness in her tone. They crept closer and closer to the buildings, half following a truck with a suspiciously sized container on it until they reached a sniping position.

“Laswell?”

“Talk to me, Garrick.” Price and him worked together to take out as many targets as they could from here.

“Good to be back in field?”

“I’m here because it happened on my watch. I need to know how.”

“We go after known, likely, and suspected targets, Kate. This one’s all three.”

“I’d go in a foxhole with you 2 any day. Let’s get this unf*cked.” Kate grunted. “You done this before, Kate?”

“Many times, Gaz, since you were in diapers.” Price chuckled lightly.

“In fairness, he was probably potty-trained by then.”

“Still am.” Gaz said cheekily.

“We’ll check your ghillie when this is over.”

“Check yours, too.” Price scoffed.

“This will all be in my final report, boys.” Gaz smiled.

“…What’s your favorite weapon?”

“Don’t have one. Use the right tool for the job.”

“Said like a warrior, Watcher.” Price smiled. “Mine’s the 141. Yours?”

“DMR.”

“Rapid engagement of multiple mid to long-range targets. Interesting.”

“Gun enthusiast?”

“No, but I know me some guns: Fieldcraft. Know where the word sniper came from?” Gaz frowned, glancing at Price.

“Bird hunting: there’s a bird called a snipe. Highly camouflaged from predators: if you could hit one, you were called a sniper.” Interesting. “I bird hunt: nice practice, and get some peace and quiet.”

“How’d you two meet?” Gaz asked.

“I like street food: John and I met at a falafel stand in Lebanon.” Gaz looked at Price incredulously, seeing the captain trying not to laugh. “Okay, it was an airport bar in Lisbon.” Gaz tilted his head, raising an eyebrow as Price snorted.

“She’s pulling your leg, Sergeant. Poker game in Tel Aviv.” Gaz rolled his eyes as Kate chuckled. “No, museum in Monte Carlo.”

“That one’s possible.” Gaz mumbled. “But you can piss off. I don’t want to know now, f*cking hell.”

“It was quite pedestrian, really. London, at a soccer game.”

“Football. It’s football, Kate.” She chuckled lightly.

“And that is exactly how I got him to talk to me.”

“Recruiting for op in Bosnia. War criminal snatch and grab.”

“How’d that go?”

“Badly. He does not like being bothered watching soccer.”

“FOOTBALL.” He groaned slightly.

“Works every time.”

“Op?”

“Badly. I dressed a guy as a gorilla to distract the target. Worked, but I slipped on the ice trying to roll him, so Laswell nabbed him. Put him away for life.” Kate chuckled lightly with an audible smile.

“Target told the gorilla story at trial. No one believed him except MacMillian.”

“Nothing gets past that old Scot bastard.” Price mumbled. “Looks like we’re clear. Time to head down and find a way inside. I’ll cover from here.” Gaz smiled.

“Why not both?” As he was moving downwards.

“You need cover and I’m the better shot.”

“Roger, copy, and check, sir.”

“Be advised. No movement on my side. If there’s missiles, they’re either long gone or somewhere in these structures.”

“Let’s hope for the latter.” Gaz was going as fast as he could while still maintaining energy levels.

“You there yet, Sargeant?” Kate half-teased.

“Bloody hell, Laswell, long way.”

“We didn’t all run cross country in college, Kate.”

“I still run, John. Just…gotta stop smoking.” Gaz knew how hard she was trying, but military life was stressful. He and Ghost both carried no-nicotine cigarettes: she hated the taste so it helped her out.

“Transport: drop.” Gaz did instantly. After several minutes, Price said, “Clear. Well done.”

“Thanks for the assist.”

“You’re doing the hard part. It’s good training.”

“We training?”

“Always.” Gaz nodded, gesturing heard to Price as he approached the building. Clearing buildings wasn’t exactly his strongest point, but he could do it. So he did, smooth as silk, for the first and second buildings. “2 cleared.”

“You do math, sir?”

“Getting cheeky?” Price half-laughed, half-warned.

“Taking the piss, cap.”

“Good to laugh while we still can.”

“Stay on point, boys. Gaz, poke around.” He gagged when he entered the second building, vomiting to the side at the stench.

“f*ck, stinks to high heaven.”

“It’s a fish breeding factory, Gaz. Reapply your blockers.” Gaz complied, gagging again as he made his way to a desk.

“Found-pause.” He rubbed wax under his nose again, it somewhat making it better. “Found something. Schematics: there’s tunnels under the lighthouse.”

“Meet me outside. On me.”

“Let’s push: we don’t belong here and if they call reinforcements, this hits the fan.”

“Solid copy, Watcher. Keep it tight, Gaz.”

“On you, cap.” They once again took out the guards, Price calling,

“You push forward to the lighthouse, and I’ll cover.”

“My turn again, sir.”

“You were so good at it the first time.”

“Getting your cardio in today, Kyle.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t ma’am me, I can still outrun you.” Gaz chuckled softly. There was a truck in front with guards dismounting. “They speaking Arabic?”

“Too far, can’t hear.”

“Gotta be AQ. If they’re here, something’s going down. There’s several outbuildings around the lighthouse: get up there and check them.” Gaz nodded quietly, clearing the garage. “Russian crates, empty. Snapping pics.”

“This is getting bigger, John.”

“Always does, Kate. Link up at their living quarters.”

“Copy.” They moved the washing machine that had scrape marks on the floor around it.

“Be advised. Multiple boats approaching my position.”

“Help?” Gaz offered.

“Could be fishermen. Stay on mission.” Price mumbled,

“Cartels love their tunnels. Bloody extensive. Lead out to water, likely. Kate, in tunnels, heading toward the coastline. You solid?”

“Boats are still closing, no trouble yet.”

“I don’t like this, Kate.” Gaz didn’t care for it, either, heckles raised. “You shouldn’t be out there alone.”

“I’m no: I’m armed and dangerous, captain. Out.” They cleared the tunnels easily enough: looked like a skeletal crew left in a cave dock. Price swore.

“Sub. Couldn’t cross the Atlantic in that heap, though. No personnel, no missile, Kate.”

“Directly across. I think I’ve got problems here, John.” Gaz got his sniper up, looking towards Kate. She was snatched by AQ as Price and Gaz tried to snipe from way too far away. Gaz grabbed Price as he growled.

“Cap, they got her.”

“…Get off the X and talk to Shepard. Let’s go.”

“We’ll get her back, Cap.”

“Let’s move.”

Ghost couldn’t get Soap to relax all day, and his pack mark burning over something or another. He scowled as Soap continued to pace through the night, jumpy and jerky. Now that he was more secure, certain he was somewhat safe in the same barrack area as Rudy and Alejandro (they didn’t have enough barracks for the guests to have separate rooms: 2 visitors per 2 Vaqueros), he was picking up on how distressed Soap was. It wasn’t anger or sexism: he was TERRIFIED. Rudy watched the man pace from the upper bunk (which was suspiciously empty of nesting materials), blinking as he stared at Soap. “…You are his commander?” Ghost stared up at him before replying flatly.

“Lieutenant. He’s a Sargeant.” Rudy just nodded. “You broken?”

“No, no. Alphas merely make me…nervous. History can be painful…Thank you for helping to capture Hassan.”

“It’s my job.” Rudy stood up and headed out: either to make food or check on something else. Soap was still pacing. “Sargeant. Sit down.” Soap looked up at him with a jerk, eyes wide.

“Aye, sir.” He sat across the couch from Ghost, right leg bouncing erratically.

“Soap.” He jerked again at Ghost’s half-bark.

“Sorry, mate. I’m…just stressed, ay?” Stress, Ghost would know what to tell him to do with: keep his jaw straight and push forward: slice of co*ke. Soap wasn’t stressed, he was half-panicked.

“Why’s your neck in a twist?”

“Wha?” He asked, blinking at Ghost in confusion. Ghost frowned.

“…you’re riled. Why?” Soap scoffed, looking away.

“Doesn’t matter, mate. Just need some sleep.” Ghost scowled even harder, growling in the back of his throat.

“Try again.”

“It’s fine.” He said flatly, the tone not matching his eyes. They were going unfocused, distant-he was fighting his own fog?

“Try AGAIN.” Ghost said firmly. Soap glared at him, Ghost just staring back. “You’ve been a jaw short a skull since Al Mazrah.”

“And you’ve been f*cking staring off since we got HERE.” Ghost tensed: he didn’t think it’d be that obvious. “I can handle it.”

“Can you?” Ghost snarled right back at Soap’s warning tone.

“I’m fine, LT. Just…leave me alone-” Ghost grabbed his arm, standing up with a growl as Soap ripped his arm out of his grasp, lemon pepper getting even stronger. “Don’t f*cking grab me, Ghost!” First time he’d ever called him Ghost: he wasn’t sure he really liked the way he said it filled with hot fury and almost hatred.

“Can you handle this? Because if you can’t-”

“I just don’t do omegas, okay?!” Soap snapped angrily. “It’s…it’s not…bloody hell, it’s not your business!”

“I’m an omega, and you don’t have an issue with me.” Ghost countered.

“It’s…complicated.” He finished lamely, beginning to pace again.

“Uncomplicate it. If something is affecting your mental state-”

“I was f*cking raped!” He shouted hotly, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. “I was raped. Go ahead and laugh: they all do.” Soap stormed out, rubbing his eyes clear. Ghost stood there, blinking. OH. That explained the situation neatly. Rudy peered inside the room.

“…Where is Soap? I brought food.”

“He…needs a sec. Gracias.” Rudy’s eyes widened, and he asked in Spanish,

“You speak Spanish?”

“Fluently.” Ghost replied flatly. Rudy smiled widely. “What?”

“Don’t tell Alejandro. I want to prank him.” Ghost nodded vaguely, eating with Rudy in silence. He then yelped, grabbing his shoulder as it felt like a brand had been burned into his skin again. Rudy looked at him in alarm.

“The f*ck-making a call.” He called Price.

“Ghost.”

“What happened?”

“Kate was taken.” What. “Stay on mission: the rest of the pack is on your Thea.”

“…Got it. Soap’s a non-issue now.”

“Good work.” Not really. Ghost hung up, scowling.

“Bad news?”

“I f*cking hate Mexico.” Rudy chuckled weakly.

“I can relate: I feel the same about America.” Ghost knuckle bumped him lightly as Alejandro came in.

“Good, you are here. I do not trust this Graves: he makes me nervous. And Soap is very…jumpy. So, if something happens, I give you our safe house address.” Ghost raised a brow. “I have learned one thing in Los Vaqueros. If something feels wrong, it is.”

“Copy. If we get in trouble, I’ll head there. If I can, Soap comes with. If not, he’s done and dusted.” Alejandro nodded.

“Thank you, for understanding.” Ghost nodded vaguely. It wasn’t a threat: if Soap wasn’t with him, at least Soap was dead, if not both of them. After Alejandro ate and laid down on the bottom bunk (Which was suspiciously destroyed nest like), he headed out to track down Soap. He found the tiny guy cussing out the kitchen stove in Scottish. He understood a bit: living for a few months with MacMillian gave him a basic concept of it, mostly the curses. He kicked the stove angrily.

“How the sh*te do you WORK?!” Ghost watched him from the side for a few minutes.

“…Blue.” Soap swore again, practically hitting the ceiling.

“LT! What…what do you want?”

“Dumbass. Don’t run off before I say sh*t again.” Soap scowled, looking back to the stove. “I believe you. Anyone can have that happen.” Soap sputtered as Ghost tapped the counter right next to him, warning Soap he was closer as the guy jumped again, backing off. Ghost turned the heat down to medium, pulling out a pan. “Making?”

“…just trying to make some eggs, but I’ve…never worked with a stove before.” Ghost nodded vaguely, making tortillas and eggs easily as Soap watched in fascination. Ghost offered him the spatula.

“Give it a flip.” Soap balked.

“N-no, I don’t know how to-” Ghost shoved the spatula into his hand forcibly with a growl of,

“Try, dumbass.” Soap obediently watched the eggs while Ghost dug around-nice, extra cooked rice. He added it into the pan with some adobo and beans, taking it back.

“Don’t you dare tell anyone.” Soap snapped with all the authority he could muster. Ghost glanced at him in amusem*nt.

“Yours to tell, Soap. Triggers?” Soap blinked froggishly.

“Um…omegas. Just…omegas. The tone, and the scents and…don’t touch me shoulders, either, ‘less I know you. …You, LT?”

“Mexico.” Ghost huffed. “Holidays. Sometimes existing.” Soap nodded. Ghost set the finished plate on the counter. “Eat, then bed. Need your strength.” Soap nodded again.

“…Thanks, LT.” Ghost nodded to him vaguely, pausing right before he left the kitchen.

“You bunk up top. No one gets through me.” Soap looked at him with shining eyes, mouth shoved full of food. He nodded, and Ghost disappeared, laying on the bottom bunk with his eyes staring up at the top bunk. Soap was surprisingly quiet when he came into the room, barely making a sound as he settled in.

Chapter 45: 2022, November 1st

Chapter Text

2022, November 1^st: Konig carried the mummied Horangi to Vega. “Damn, that doesn’t look good. He should live, though. Good work, Colonel.” He nodded curtly, letting her scoop the small man out of his arms and take him to the med bay.

“Want to go to mess with me?” Klaus offered.

“Nein. I’m going to worth out.” Wait. Konig frowned: that didn’t sound right. Klaus laughed.

“Work out?” He flushed under his mask. Cursed English: the words sounded so similar, and with such different meanings at the same time. You’d think after 8 years of working under an American, he’d be better at it… “Alright, want some-”

“Nein.” Konig turned on his heel and headed to the gym. He had some…aggression to work out. Phillip had actively ignored a terrorist group that he was aware to be actively torturing people. Konig understood following orders. He understood that WELL. What he was failing to understand was why someone would give an order to ignore such a thing. Phillip didn’t lie to him: he was an honest young man towards Konig. So if he said someone gave him that order, someone gave him that order. He hoisted a bag onto the hook, tapping it lightly. Less dense than he really should be using, but it should be fine so long as he wore gloves. If he ever found out who would let that happened, he may make a trip to…demonstrate his displeasure. He scowled as he pulled off his hood: he didn’t want to scare anyone who decided to let off some aggression in the night. He took a deep breath, pulling on the gloves, and started swinging.

Gaz watched the video, frowning. “Proof, cap.”

“Where did this come from?”

“Urzikstan.” Gaz tapped comms: he heard Alex’s slight whistle to let him know he could hear.

“Pointing east: Al Mazrah.”

“They get her underground there, we’ll lose her for good.” Price stated. “We’ll lead the rescue team.”

“That’s not gonna happen, John.” Gaz’s eye twitched as Price turned on his heel.

“Say again?”

“This is a tug of war, boys. We need to pull back, not lean forward.” Alex growled in Gaz’s ear.

“Nik’s almost there. We’re doing this with or without permission.” Price snapped,

“Since when?”

“Since now. We can’t just send in the cavalry. These things take planning and preparation.”

“These THINGS take violence and time. I can do both. Kate’s life is in a f*cking hourglass.”

“I know you’re upset, captain. This happened on your mission and that’s a tough pill to swallow.”

“Are you telling me we leave her?” Price’s entire body was warning Shepard.

“I’m telling you I can’t help you, but I won’t stop you.”

“Have her back in 12 hours.”

“Don’t die doing this, John.” Gaz was following Price down to the heli.

“Laswell wouldn’t want that, I don’t either.”

“Thought Kate was a friend?” Gaz stated flatly.

“War isn’t about friends, stump.” Price’s body tightened at the same time as Gaz did. “It’s about enemies. Good luck.” He scowled, talking as Shepard went offline,

“We’d be going head-to-head with AQ on their turf. 100s protecting Kate. Need an army.”

“Hear that, Farah?”

“We have an army, so long as the strike is in our borders.”

“Thanks. Nik!”

“Where to, mate?”

“Urzikstan.” They met up with Farah’s group quickly.

“Captain, Farah. It’s time.”

“Rog, wheels in one. Alex?”

“Busy.” He called over comms. Price nodded.

“Gaz, stay in the heli on overwatch. We’ll work our way up the line.”

“Roger. Thin the pack, get Kate.” Gaz glanced at Nik as Price jumped out, nodding. “What vehicle?”

“Al-Qatala has her in black SUV, near the front of the convoy.”

“Escort first, then secure Laswell before AQ reached the border.”

“There are civilians on the highway: watch your fire!” Gaz was quiet as Nik laughed.

“I missed Farah.”

“We all do.” Price chuckled back. Nik cried out,

“AQ’s locking on: hold on, Gaz!” Gaz fell back, losing his footing faster than he could grab something, desperately scrambling to stay onboard the heli-he yelped in pain as the rope yanked him to a halt, him certain his leg was dislocated.

“f*ck-ING HELL!” He was hanging upside down, trying to figure out what the hell he was doing as he instinctively pulled his sidearm as Nik said in a frightened tone,

“The sergeant is gone!”

“I’m not dead, I’m hanging from a bloody rope!” He yipped out, anger, fear, and blood making him dizzy. “Pull up, you bastard!”

“I am trying!”

“Gaz, what’s your status!”

“BUSY! Nik, f*cking pull up-truck, get us over it!”

“High as I can go: cut loose!” Gaz did, breath shaky as he stabilized.

“Free…Securing vehicle.” He leapt to a truck and yanked the driver out unceremoniously, heart pounding. “f*cking hell.”

“Keep pushing up, Gaz. Nik owes you a whole bloody bar after that.”

“Damn right, he does.”

“Sorry, sorry!” Gaz didn’t even have time to calm down, pushing forward relentlessly. Through a road block, land mines and at least 70 enemies. He waved Price past, then jumped onto that truck.

“Good to see you in one piece. You solid?”

“Breathing.”

“Good enough. Take the grenade launcher. We’re getting closer to Laswell, so they’re changing tactics: chasing us now. Check fire: that Farah.” Gaz nodded to her.

“Let’s take this home.” She called,

“Al-Qatala’s trying to box us in.” Gaz snapped as a truck bulldozed forward,

“Watch it!” She dodged the truck with her bike, and Gaz started firing grenades to destroy trucks.

“They’re taking shortcut to border!”

“Farah, stay close! Nik?”

“You are closing in, but there is lot of AQ.”

“We’ll handle it, just don’t lose her. Gaz, secure your own vehicle and thin the pack.” He nodded, jumping cars again. It was a hot mess, but they stopped the convoy, and went into far more familiar territory of ground firefights. When they got to Kate’s car, she tumbled out of it, having her captor by the neck. “Kate, move!”

“No, he’s mine-” His neck snapped, Kate breathing heavily as Gaz checked the truck.

“Kate, it’s over. It’s over.” Her muscles untensed. So that was her trigger phrase: important to know.

“Family reunion.” Farah chuckled, tapping Kate’s shoulder.

“Nice moves.”

“You, too. All of you.” Price called,

“We’re in Al Mazrah: need to get somewhere safe now.”

“Captain’s right.” She shouted something in Arabic, waving goodbye with her pack bond visible on her left wrist, and they headed off into the desert. Laswell said quickly,

“We’ve got bigger problems: don’t hold yourself accountable. Missiles were never in Spain. The guidance systems were.”

“Guidance-where the hell did they get those?”

“Russians.”

“Where are they now?”

“On the missiles. And aside from Hassan, there’s only one person who knows where to find them, and I’ve been hunting him for 2 years. El Sin Nombre.”

Ghost felt the relief even before the phone call, answering it as Soap got ready for the day. “Ghost.”

“We got her: Gaz fell out the heli but is fine. New horror story.” Ghost scoffed. “Farah says hi, and Nik’s heading back with her for a bit. Issue is, missiles have guidance systems now.” Ghost swore, putting Price on speaker as Alejandro, Rodolfo, and Soap perked up, all looking concerned. “Only one person knows where they are now, and that’s El Sin Hombre.” Rodolfo and Alejandro shared a glance. “These missiles are armed now, and could go any second.”

“Al, where do we find El Sin Hombre?” Soap asked firmly, Alejadro frowning.

“One of his lieutenant’s host events. Exclusively alpha, even guards. I have a contact inside: I can only get you in.” Soap nodded.

“That’s fine. We need to get these missiles locked down.” They met up with Graves on site. Soap asked,

“La casa de Sin Nombre?”

“No, one of his Lugartenientes.” Soap tried to remember that one.

“…cartel LT?”

“Nice, hermano. You’re learning.” He scoffed in response, Graves looking uneasy and Ghost a fair distance away from their group. “My sources say all the VIPs in Las Almas will be there tonight. Some are invited, others are, um-”

“Volun-told?”

“Si.” Graves bit his lip.

“What’s the meet about?”

“Nosotros.” Okay, Soap did not know that one. “Las Almas is burning, and they want to know who lit the fire.”

“Sin Nombre will be there, yeah?”

“No guarantees, but this is our best shot. He is…a vapor.” Graves said more firmly than Soap had ever heard the man speak,

“Then we take it. I got enough Shadows to take over the whole damn country.” Alejandro’s eyes narrowed.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t.”

“I’m just saying one house shouldn’t be a problem.” Ghost said flatly, looking dead at Graves,

“We need Sin Nombre alive.” Graves finally made eye contact with Ghost, both standing to their full height. Graves was taller, but Ghost was WAY bigger. He bit his cheek again, glancing at Soap, Alejandro, then Rudy.

“Well, then we need to meet him.”

“How?” Soap asked bewilderedly.

“They want intel, give them intel. They want to know who’s here, let’s tell them.” Ghost’s eyes went vacant instantly.

“In person?” Alejandro snapped.

“Correcto. Get one of us inside, find the boss, roll him up.” Soap said easily,

“I’ll do it. I’m the only alpha here, and you said it was exclusively alpha.”

“You go in there, and they’ll kill you, hermano.” Soap smiled.

“I’ll take me chances. We came to stop a missile, let’s stop it. I offer intel for a meet with Sin Nombre. If he’s there, we pounce.” Alejandro chuckled, speaking in Spanish rapidly, then added,

“You won’t be able to hide you’re not Latino, hermano. Don’t even try, and there will be apex there. El Sin Hombre is fond of them. You have to be honest: rumors say he is very perceptive. He can tell when someone lies. Once you get accepted, I go in-”

“Ale.” He paused, looking at Rudy. “I am the better hider. You should cover the windows, with Ghost. Dio knows I am no sharpshooter.” Alejandro hesitated, but nodded.

“If you can handle it. All Las Almas VIPs will be there. Be careful, both of you.” Soap paused Rudy, still careful to not touch.

“Hey. I’ll cover your back.” He nodded, hands still shaking. Soap hoped they didn’t get into a gun fight: his hands looked as if he was going to shoot himself more than an enemy. Ghost spoke, voice more of a growl than ever before.

“I’ll take overwatch. Shadow circles the target in a helo.” Ghost grabbed Graves’ shoulder, both of them tensing. “…Don’t burn us.” Graves shot him a hot glare.

“I look like Vernon to ya’ll?” Before ripping off his badge. “They’re going to want proof. Show them this. Call when you need me. Let’s gear up and get after it.” Soap wandered closer to the house, wondering who the hell Vernon was and why both Ghost and Graves knew him. It surprisingly went smoothly: Alejandro’s alpha contact got him in, hands zip-tied, and meeting with El Sin Hombre’s…he thought that word meant mate or toy: he wasn’t positive. The owner of the house, Diego, met him in the basem*nt. He spoke a lot of Spanish. Soap wished he knew it: he was so f*cking lost.

“You got a name, hawk?”

“They call me Soap.” He said tensely, everything in him warning this was a damn stupid idea. More Spanish.

“Let’s go.”

“I want to see El Sin Nombre.” More Spanish-he tensed as the man grabbed his collar, yanking him forward.

“You’re only alive because you may have some information. And it better be good, or I’m going to scalp that hawk right off your f*cking head. Get the f*ck out of my elevator!” Soap slowly walked forward, uncomfortable-he got shoved, and he sped up. “This is my house. That means you don’t meet the boss until I say so. You don’t speak unless spoken to. And Mas importante, tell the damn truth. Cause if you lie, I’ll feed you to my dogs.” Soap’s heart beat spiked at the threat. He hated dogs. And now Diego was beating a man up and shouting Spanish. He then casually turned back. “Las Almas is at war. You want to win, don’t disobey. That is how the organization survives, and that is why the boss is here tonight.” Confirmed. Now narrow down location.

“He’s down here?” Diego scoffed.

“Of course not. El Sin Nombre’s personal sicaria is.” The door opened, and Soap was smacked in the face with the scent of copper. Not blood: it was too distinct. And his eyes widened as he saw the largest person he’d ever laid eyes on. He was barely to her chest, and his heart rate was spiking. What the f*ck? What was going on? He couldn’t breathe. He physically stopped himself from exposing his neck, covering it with his hands as best he could while she chuckled.

“Sit down.” He didn’t fight her command, hands shaking as she disciplined Diego in front of him harshly. He couldn’t slow his heartrate down, stop his erratic breathing. Her scent was muddling his head. “Ninos. This is simple. I ask questions, you answer truthfully.” Soap couldn’t lie even if he tried: he couldn’t think of one in the slightest. “Do not lie to me. Recently we were protecting a friend in the mountains. Someone attacked us there. Who?” The man Soap hadn’t even seen, his eyes watering at the intensity of her smell stuttered in Spanish before she barked something at him.

“I-I think it was the Rivals Cartel.” He stammered out.

“Your turn, blanquito. Who attacked us?” He tried to swallow, and couldn’t. She got closer.

“M-Mexican Special F-Forces. What the f*ck?”

“Oh, pretty Nino has never met an apex before? How cute.” Pretty? He almost melted-his mind slapped him. An apex. That’s why he couldn’t think: she was purposely triggering his submissive responses with her body language and use of a very effective alpha tone. He had to survive without submitting to her.

“We found the bodies. Now, how would an outsider know they were Mexican Special Forces and not you?”

“M-maybe he was there?!” Diego whispered something to him in Spanish as Valeria barked,

“There were outsiders helping the Mexican Special Forces. Who were they?”

“W-we heard them yelling, Valeria, some in English. They were with the gringos, like him!”

“I-it was American PMCs, group called Shadow Company.” More Spanish. Soap had finally regulated his breathing now, but he still didn’t release his grip on his neck. She scoffed.

“What about you? What proof do you have?”

“My pocket. Shadow Company’s insignia, proof.” She got even closer, Soap pulling back as best he could in the chair.

“Who leads Shadow Company? Give me a name.”

“G-Graves. I-I think his first name’s Phillip?”

“This man, Graves. What does he want?”

“The Iranian. He wants Hassan.” More Spanish, more aggressive shouting, Soap’s grip tightening on his neck as the poor bastard’s head was blown through. The woman whispered in his head as she cut his zip-ties off.

“Well done, pretty Nino.” And then he was told to follow Diego.

“To be f*cking clear: we’re not done with you. Sin Nombre will decide your future.” If Sin Nombre had an APEX under his command as a f*cking toy, just how dangerous was he?? His ears heard ‘Penthouse’ among the Spanish. He was pushed into a glass window, heart still pounding in his ears as he caught the first whiff of his own scent since entering that basem*nt. Lemon pepper. He was fine. It was fine. The pat down was given by shaking hands that smelled like gas and vanilla. “Rudy?”

“Si. You met an apex.” He nodded vaguely. “Deep breathes: wash your face. It helps.”

“Sin-Sin Nombre’s in the penthouse.”

“3^rd floor. We need a keycard.”

“Diego has one, I-I think.” Rudy handed him a knife and a mask, making Soap look at him oddly. “Some people can’t be seen with the cartel. Comms are hooked in.” Soap got out shakingly,

“We’re in, LT.” Ghost said lowly,

“What have we got?”

“El Sin’s in the penthouse, need Diego’s keycard. He’s in the ofrenda.”

“Roof access to the penthouse, too. Either way’s fine.” Ghost stated. Alejandro added,

“But you get caught on the roof or in the garage, you die.”

“Rog. Let’s get this f*cker.” Soap was quiet. This was his zone, an area of contested control he thrived in. Even his heartbeat slowed to its normal level while he worked here. He killed Diego and rushed off, Rodolfo guiding him to the elevator as his hands shook like a leaf as they went up. “Here we go. You steady?” Rodolfo nodded, taking a deep breath of his wrist. Must be a mate’s scent, as he instantly relaxed, hands no longer shaking but solid steel.

“This is it. For years, El Sin Hombre corrupted my home. Tonight, we take a piece back from the dogs.” He blinked as Rodolfo viciously battered the guard unconscious, and Soap checked to see who was behind the door. It was that apex.

“No f*cking way. That lady apex, Valeria: she’s Sin-Rudy?” He had gone rigid, staring at Soap in horror as his third scent cut through: leather, mingling with an acidic scent like nothing Soap had ever smelled before.

“Valeria?” Soap nodded. “…W-we need her alive, let’s go.” They caught her fairly easily now, Graves picking her up as Alejandro grabbed Rudy’s hand, whispering rapidly in his ear. Soap asked quietly,

“What’s up?”

“Valeria. We know her. Rudy, go back to base. Rest. I will handle it. You were very brave, luz.” He leaned into the head ruffle, then disappeared. Soap looked at Alejandro.

“You’re his mate? Nice.” Alejandro looked at him in suspicion. “No, honest, mate, good on you. Good guy.”

“Si, he is. Valeria, on the other hand…” They got back to base easily enough, Soap shocked as Ghost seemed unfazed by her scent. Soap grabbed Alejandro when he went to get physical from her saying something in Spanish.

“Al, relax!”

“Yeah?! Tell them.”

“I don’t take orders anymore. Even the dogs in Las Almas know not to bark at me.” Alejandro’s eye twitched.

“She’s ex-military. Rudy and her served in the alpha division of Special Forces together before his gender got leaked by her.”

“Different squads, same unit, si? You all are the wild ones, Los Vaqueros. Untamed knotdroppers. My squad was clean cut.”

“Until the raid on the son of La Arana. Her team was told to cordon off the city to keep out La Arana’s enforcers and prevent the bloodshed.” She seemed completely unapologetic.

“That’s exactly what we did.”

“You kept out his enforcers because you WERE his enforcers!”

“He was escorted to the mountains without incident. Also to prevent bloodshed.”

“He was meant to go to prison!” Alejandro snarled, Soap grabbing his shoulder again.

“So you killed him and took over.”

“I created a power vacuum.” She looked over Graves, who was also unfazed. “And I filled it. You smell like an apex yourself.”

“That’s not ya’ll’s concern.”

“Las Almas needs me.”

“Las Almas needs soldiers, not sicarios or cartels! And you disgrace the army.” Graves gestured him to back off.

“Why are you doing this?”

“You tell me. You’re the contractor, no? What you don’t do, your competitors will.”

“You’re a narco harboring a terrorist.” Ghost said flatly.

“Terrorism is good for business. It’s insurance.”

“What the f*ck does that mean?!” Alejandro and her got into a screaming match, Graves gently pushing her back into the seat.

“As long as there is a war on terror, there will be no real war on drugs. To find your so-called terrorist, and your missiles, you need me. To prevent bloodshed.” Soap looked at Ghost in unease while Alejandro grabbed a gun.

“It doesn’t change anything-”

“It changes everything! f*ck!” He stormed out, Soap looking at Ghost. “Don’t make a deal with her. It won’t end well.” He gave a nod, and Soap went after him. Ghost said flatly, not unfazed but her scent was nothing compared to the fog in his mind,

“Your turn to tell the truth.” Graves leaned over her.

“I want the missiles, I want the target, and I want Hassan. You have 10 seconds before I show you the difference between the military and me: Ghost will just stand there and watch.”

“I don’t know the targets. I’m a courier. I move things. I can tell you where to find the missiles. When you come back, I’ll tell you where Hassan is. In exchange, you will let me go, and get the f*ck out of Las Almas.”

“Deal. ‘Til then, you’re staying right here.” Ghost paused Graves, who tensed at his touch. “Hell do you want?”

“…How’d you get out?” Graves tensed, a million battles flashing in his eyes as a finger ran across his cheek.

“…before Roba could round us all up, they lifted a truck and strapped me to the bottom of it. I was under there for 4 days before it got to the border. Got this from a rock flying into my face on the first day. Few weeks later, Vernon came out: said the others were dead. That f*cker…You?” Ghost considered his options.

“…Got buried alive. Dug my way out and walked.” Graves scoffed.

“f*cking Ghost indeed.” They would head out in the morning after they get blueprints of the oil rig.

Chapter 46: 2022, November 2nd

Chapter Text

2022, November 2^nd: Alejandro was seething: Ghost could practically hear the bristling underneath his uniform. The only reason he was calm is Rodolfo was safe. That much was clear, even with how frankly oblivious Soap was in general. Soap was right at home here, and so was Ghost. Black is what Ghost did: clean house was what Soap did. And this was both. But Ghost was not a sea person, so he struggled to not get sick while Soap got better the longer that they were here. Ghost ordered them to clear the rig since they couldn’t abort the launch: they would make it blow up the rig instead. “Al? You clear?” That was one hell of a series of curses. “You safe?”

“Si, affirmative, you?” Graves chuckled warmly, Soap relying in relief,

“We’re good, Hermano. Let’s go home, and get you back.”

“I’d appreciate that, si.” The trip back was quiet, Soap falling asleep leaning on Ghost’s shoulder: he just let the alpha sleep, because he clearly was exhausted. True rest hadn’t come easy for either of them this trip, that much was clear, and Ghost would take his trust with pride, if confusion. He hadn’t done much to prove he could be trusted, after all. They stopped 10 minutes before the car should have, right outside of the gate. His instincts lit on fire. Something was wrong. Alejandro left the car, Soap slowly joining him in the waking world as he shouted, “What’s this?”

“The immediate future, Ale.” Soap was on his feet and out of the car as fast as Ghost was; teeth bared under his mask with no sound as Soap glared. “Step away from the gate.” Soap snapped,

“What?”

“You heard me, Soap.” Ghost stood at a loose attention, waiting for a sign of aggression. That’s all he needed. He was going to kill Graves.

“You’re loco. This is my base.”

“It’s not a base, it’s a sizable covert facility, and I admire it. So I’m taking it. You boys are relieved, thank you for your service.”

“No, no, no. I don’t take orders from you.” Alejandro was a single step down from full on growling.

“Didn’t Valeria say that?” Ghost’s hands grabbed the knife hilt at his waist as he continued, Alejandro snarling. “Don’t do that. Don’t do that. No megs need to get hurt here.” Ex-f*cking-cuse him?

“You threatening us?” Ghost prompted. He just needed an excuse now, will barely keeping him in place.

“Soldier, I don’t make threats.” Ghost tensed as he bared his teeth. “I make guarantees. So let’s not do this.” Soap said, clearly trying to stay calm and be the reasonable one with threats being thrown around,

“I’m calling Shepard.”

“General Shepard sends his regards.” Oh, this was f*cked. “He told me ya’ll wouldn’t take this well.”

“He knows about this?” Graves nodded curtly at Ghost’s barked question.

“Thought a beta would be better than some omegas. He put me in command of this op from here on out, so ya’ll need to stand down and let the big boys handle this.” Soap glanced at Ghost: they both gave a slight nod, imperceptible to most. “Why the hell are we talking like this is a negotiation? It’s not. I’ve got my orders, and now you have yours.”

“Who the f*ck do you think you are, puta? My men are inside!” His mate was inside.

“I’m afraid not.” Oh, this was about to f*ck a fan blade. “Your men have been…detained.” Alejandro struck, and so did Ghost, stabbing about 4 of them as Soap grabbed another-Graves shot him in the shoulder. Ghost barked, PTSD sparking,

“Go, Johnny, get out of there! SOAP, GO!” Disappearing into the darkened woods as Graves said warily,

“You there, Ghost? That was a big mistake, brother. It did not have to be like this.” Evidently, yes, it did. Ghost fought the fog for exactly 16 seconds before it took over.

Chapter 47: 2022, November 3rd part 1

Chapter Text

2022, November 3^rd: Konig looked up as the door opened. It was Oz. “Hey, big guy. Graves wants to talk.” He took the phone, pulling off one of his gloves as he took a steadying breath.

“Ja.”

“How’d it go?” The young man sounded exhausted, worn to the bone.

“Horangi lived.”

“He just survives everything, sh*t. How bad is he?”

“Bad.”

“He’ll pull through since Vega’s on base. I’m giving you my personal chatter link. I’m doing a lot of dumb sh*t right now. Really, really…dumb sh*t.” Konig huffed. “I, uh…may not make it back, honestly. I pissed off too many people this time, even my boss. And someone I knew…before I left the marines. He’s bad news, worst kind. Can’t talk long, I’m about to commit war crimes…”

“Was it worth it?” Konig asked softly.

“Disobeying orders? Hell, yeah. The sh*t I’m doing right now? f*ck no.” Graves disconnected, and Konig tapped into his personal chatter and the Shadow’s frequency. Oh, Scheiße. He felt sick.

Ghost came to in town, and ducked into the first building he saw. It was a church as he heard,

“Bravo 7-1 blind. How copy?” Johnny sounded weak, and petrified. “LT, 7-1, copy?” Ghost ensured he was safe before transferring the signal to an open channel for 141. Hopefully, Price would hear and come, but that was unlikely to happen quickly. He was still trying to track down the 3^rd missile. “f*ck.” Silence for a significant time as Ghost set up a sniping post.

“Soap, this is Ghost, how copy?” Silence. “Johnny, how copy?” The pure pain in the answer of,

“Solid.” Made his hair stand on end.

“Thought I lost you. Injured?”

“I’m no medic.”

“Tell me something I don’t know. Keep your blood in, you’ll need every drop.”

“Thanks for the tip. Where are you?”

“Church. Thought I’d seek penitence for Graves ‘fore I kill him.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“Close enough for me. You ever play hunter-prey, mate?”

“Never played hunter. Quirks of being a 7-pup litter runt.” He had 6 birth siblings? Damn.

“You’ll need that practice. Improvise to survive. I’ll be talking to you the whole way.”

“That’ll be a shift.” Ghost scoffed. “Shadows are everywhere.”

“Looking for Hassan. Stay out of sight. I recommend indoors.”

“f*cking hell. They’re-ugh-executing civs, mate.” Ghost nodded.

“Welcome to guerilla warfare and hate, Johnny.”

“Experience?”

“Years. You?”

“Not to this extent, but enough.”

“What do you see?”

“Bloodbath.”

“Watch your ass. You’ve got zero allies down there.”

“We’re friends, no?” Ghost sighed. He couldn’t claim Soap as a friend. That lessened his chances of surviving based on history.

“Teammates. Friends aren’t in the field manual.”

“Neither’s mask making.” Touche, there, Soap. “Mercs are killing everything in their path.”

“War crimes.” Ghost sighed. Soap growled,

“Makes me what to commit a few war crimes me self.” So his accent could get stronger.

“Tyranny, it won’t stand.”

“Think we’ll get a green light to go after these blokes?”

“No more green lights, Johnny. We’re on our own.” Soap was quiet for a bit.

“What about Alejandro? Price? Laswell?”

“Graves’ custody if alive; Price isn’t here; and Laswell’s too close to Shepard.”

“…After this sh*te, Al won’t trust us to burn a match.”

“We’ll see. Just make sure you trust yourself. Start there.”

“Good advice, Lt. Want to be like you when I grow up.”

“Be better.” It wasn’t a request or an order. It was a beg. Be better than him and his life.

“Got my work cut out, then.” Ghost scoffed lightly. “Think I’ll live that long?”

“Probably not. Shadows everywhere. Will have eyes on once you get to the church.”

“Found a headlamp, not far from the…previous owner.”

“Careful. Lights your way; attracts attention.” He was quiet for too long. “Latest?”

“Dead bodies. Lots of them. f*cking hell, even kids, Ghost-sh*te!” Barking. Right, the dog. He’d half-forgotten it, his fogged mind not registering the barking. “Did you see the caged dog?”

“Big geezer. He barks, shoot and repo. Don’t get compromised.”

“You are stone cold, Simon.” Ghost tensed at his real name, then relaxed again, watching the plaza. Johnny didn’t know better.

“What has two legs and bleeds?”

“Don’t tell me.”

“Half a dog.”

“I asked you not to bloody tell me.” He chuckled to himself at Soap’s fond annoyance. He heard a grunt of pain.

“Sit-rep.”

“Outside, gated alley.”

“Stick to edges: stay low. May get a brag rag.”

“A medal?” Ghost almost couldn’t make out the word.

“Chest candy.”

“Rubbish.” Ghost shrugged, starting to set up supplies.

“Said you wanted a win. Congrats, you’re a winner.”

“Away n’ bile ye rheid!” MacMillian had never said that one before.

“English, MacTavish.” Soap scoffed.

“Sorry, sir, let me translate. Go f*ck yourself.”

“Better. Let me understand when you curse me out. Church is north side: got a sniper position in the tower. Find it, and you might make it out alive. What else you find?”

“Graves rounding up cops.”

“Judge, jury, and executioner now. You broken?”

“Damaged, not broken. These shadows are scared sh*te-less of you, mate.”

“Aye, should be.”

“You missing a knife, LT?”

“4 or 5.” He didn’t remember the exact number he had brought on mission, but he was definitely missing several.

“Think I found one.” Soap sounded odd.

“Some of the shadows are mine.”

“You came through here?”

“On my way to church.”

“You left me?” Ghost hummed. That was why. He didn’t want to explain he literally lost control of his actions for however long Soap had been running around the city trying to contact someone.

“Work on my own.”

“So much for no man left behind.”

“Get to the church. Trying to keep you alive and conscious. One of us needs to survive.” Johnny chuckled.

“Taken a shine to me, then?”

“Not in the slightest. Got a lot of ground to cover.”

“Aw, not even a bit?”

“Get to the church and we’ll see.” Ghost teased lightly.

“About to play rough, LT.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Got a trip mine.” He wasn’t kidding about experience.

“Man after my own heart.”

“Thought you’d…killed a shadow, took his gun. Thought you’d like that.”

“Thought right. Good work. Moving up in the world, Johnny. Watch it: guns make noise.”

“Thanks for the obvious tip, mate. Oi, one of them thinks I’m Irish.”

“Gets your neck in a twist, do it?”

“Aye.”

“Why not do something about it?” Soap chuckled.

“I did.” His breath was shaking.

“Feeling weak?”

“Bit shaky, sir, yeah.”

“Graves tried to kill us. Stands to reason if you were off. Get here quick: I’ll patch work you as best I can.”

“I’m no rag doll.”

“Yeah, but I’m good at sewing. Mask maker, remember?” Soap chuckled weakly again, then swore.

“It’s pishing it doon out here!” He thought that one had to do with rain: MacMillian had said it a few times during a storm.

“Speak English.” He gave the worse mock Manchester accent Ghost had ever heard.

“It’s raining f*cking hard.”

“Say so.”

“I did!”

“Rain’ll cover you.”

“So you do like me.”

“Like you alive.”

“Close enough. Moving inside.”

“Check.”

“Sweet, we’re in business. LT?”

“Soap.”

“Found a tripwire rigged to a shotgun. Took the gun.”

“Open hearts and minds.” It was quiet for too long. Ghost spoke up again. “Johnny, Graves is burning the midnight oil to find us. Why?” He didn’t respond for a few seconds.

“No matter what, this is an unprecedented amount of f*ckery. We need to get to the bottom of it.”

“Accurate and deadly fire resolve things. Right now, we’re not safe here.”

“We’re not safe anywhere, LT.” Ghost winced at the knowledge being spoken out loud. He rubbed his neck to activate a stronger scent to ground himself as the fog threatened to take him again- “In the coffee shop.”

“Get us a tea.”

“f*cking Brit. You owe me for this.”

“Why?” Ghost said casually, checking the plaza again.

“We’re fixing each other’s problems.”

“What’s mine?”

“The mask. Take it off.” Ghost tensed. Take off his mask?

“Show my face?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Negative.”

“Are you ugly?” What a time for that question.

“Quite the opposite.”

“I doubt that. Where do I go?”

“Flooded tunnel leads to the church: I’ll guide you.” He may have memorized the nearby town layout and ways to get through it, just in case he was betrayed in Mexico again. “Ready for a cold swim?”

“Can’t wait.” Ghost asked softly,

“Still upright?” Johnny verbally shrugged.

“So far.”

“Get caught; they’ll kill you slow.”

“Mercs or Narcos?” Genuine question.

“Both. Narcos take videos.”

“I’ll give them your email so they know where to send them.”

“Won’t watch them more than once.” Johnny scoffed.

“Sick bastard.” Another silence fell for a bit too long. Ghost called,

“Making progress?”

“Aye, getting there.”

“Two goldfish are in a tank.”

“Go on?”

“One turns to the other and says ‘you know how to drive this thing?’ Little army humor.”

“Very little.” Despite the comment, Ghost heard a slight chuckle regardless.

“Another?” Ghost offered, scanning the horizon now.

“Tell you what: I say one, you say one.”

“Go on.”

“Why was the strawberry crying?”

“Why?” Ghost asked, eyes narrowed on a target, all alone. 400 meters: he could hit that. And he did.

“He was in a jam. Your turn.”

“Why don’t blind guys skydive?”

“Tell me.”

“Scares the sh*t out of their dogs. You?”

“Why don’t shrimp share?” Ghost hummed.

“No clue.”

“They’re shellfish.” Ghost scoffed softly, the closest he’d been to genuinely laughing since Christmas 2015.

“We can do this all night.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. At a bar, taking a quick rest.”

“Like tequila?” Soap scoffed.

“No, tastes like dog piss.”

“I’ll take your word on it.”

“Got a tactical use for dog piss?”

“Wolf hunting. They follow the scent.” Soap scoffed louder, steadying his breathing.

“You hunt with the mask on?”

“Naturally, camo version.”

“Sleep with it on?”

“Soundly.” Ghost chuckled. Soap groaned.

“I could use a drink right now, though.”

“Murder for a whiskey.” Ghost sighed.

“You mean scotch?”

“Drink bourbon.” Soap teased,

“Like a good ol’ boy.” Oh, that DID things. He pushed it away: it was likely just because his heat was about to start.

“Love Kentucky.”

“You’re out of your mind, LT.”

“For sure. Get moving.” Soap groaned, but went quiet.

“Found the tunnels.”

“Left then right at the intersects. Church on the other end. Push through: can almost smell you.”

“Same to you. Wash that mask, and maybe they won’t find you.”

“You and my mask. You got eyes on the church?”

“Aye. Area’s blocked off.”

“Forgot to mention. Cut through shops: have eyes on you now.”

“Comforting. Found a way in, LT.”

“Shadows everywhere. RV in front; get a vehicle for exfil. I drive.”

“Roger.” He shot a Shadow before he could kill Soap. “Holy hell, was that you?”

“Who else? Go, I’ll meet you.” He was already on his way down.

“Give a bloody break-company at the church, and they’re not here to pray.”

“Steps: I’ll be there.” He bolted over the fence, Soap automatically watching his back as Ghost’s heart panged. His arm was a bloody mess, one of the worst tourneys he’d ever seen hastily put on. “Mount up!” Soap hit the seat hard, panting. “Alright, Johnny: you made it.”

“We made it.” He smiled weakly-then aimed at the guys behind them firing. Ghost hit them with the car, and slammed on the gas, shooting off. “Where the hell did you learn to drive, LT?!”

“Arcade games.” Soap yelped as they ran over more people, Ghost flying off. He got them to Alejandro’s safe house. Soap asking hoarsely as he tried to stop the bleeding,

“Where are we?” Ghost said flatly,

“Al’s safe house. Gave location in case.”

“Why didn’t he tell me?”

“Need to know.” Ghost didn’t want to admit that it was due to him being an alpha and they didn’t know why he was edgy.

“What if I needed to-” Ghost shushed him, gesturing down at the pressure plate.

“We’re about to enter a shared omega nest and military base. Don’t be a dumbass.” They got in through the window, Soap looking around-Ghost chucked a knife into the wooden frame. “Don’t move!” He knew that snarl, the eyes glinting at him from the floor. “Rodolfo. It’s me and Soap.”

“You’re alive?” He asked softly, peering out from the covers of mountains of blankets. How wasn’t he overheating? Ghost was tempted to take off his vest because it was hot as hell (he wouldn’t due to the dangers, but it was tempting).

“Aye.” Soap answered as Rudy climbed out, clutching papers in one hand, and handing Ghost’s knife back with the other.

“Good to see you, amigos.” Soap offered a hand as Ghost took the knife. Rudy took it for the first time, laying out the papers on the table quickly. Soap said softly,

“Same, amigo.” Rudy looked around at them, spotting Soap’s injury.

“I have a med kit.” Ghost forcibly sat Soap down, cleaning out the gun shot best he could and wrapping it. He just knew how to stop blood from leaking out and making tracking easy as cracking a neck. He didn’t know med sh*t on his best day, and this was activating everything he tried to suppress about his time in Mexico. “Where were you? Where’s Alejandro?”

“On the run. Graves shot us in the back.” Soap corrected, wincing at Ghost’s harsh cleaning,

“I was running. He waited for me.” Rodolfo looked at them oddly, confusion as to why Ghost WOULDN’T wait for him palpable. Ghost didn’t blame him for being puzzled. You’d think a commander would go after his charge. That wasn’t guaranteed with Ghost. He’d left people before: he’d killed his own men before (due to corruption or fogging up).

“We’re a team now, all of us. Happened on my watch: need help to fix it. No more fighting alone.”

“Why did Graves turn?” Ghost shook his head. There was no telling: Graves had been truthful about how he got out of Mexico the first time. He hadn’t been taken by Roba. Money or power if he were to guess, but Ghost didn’t believe in guessing: tended to muddy the issue. Soap just shrugged. “Las Almas can corrupt anyone.”

“Not us.” Soap nearly fell over trying to stand to prove his point: Ghost pushed him down with a huff. He continued firmly,

“Anyone outside this room is considered hostile. With one exception.”

“Al.” Soap agreed, color on his face faint. He’d lost a lot of blood. Rodolfo looked hopeful.

“We need him back.” Ghost admitted. He wouldn’t make someone else go through that. The concept made him ill. Rudy gestured around with a deep breath.

“Alejandro is paranoid. Most of Los Vaqueros is, that’s why I’m rarely on base when strangers that seem…aggressive are there. I’m here, prepping for bad blood. They will be here.” Soap stared at the map, shocked as Rodolfo gestured to the papers spread over the table, Ghost scanning them quickly.

“A black site prison?” Soap asked, confused. Rudy nodded, adding,

“Defunct mental hospital. All of them are here.” Soap hissed lowly, clearly pissed but not aggressive towards them,

“How do we get them back?” Rodolfo looked at Ghost, who nodded.

“Your home, your calls.”

“I love the ghost.” Ghost turned a bright red under his mask. Okay, it MIGHT not just be his heat-no, it definitely was. He could feel the churning in his gut starting, the pain building already. Rudy continued,

“We break in. We have everything we need: I was already planning it with just me.”

“Just you? Rodolfo, you’re terrified of anyone that’s not an omega.” He nodded, eyes staring into Soap’s soul as he bristled.

“Terror is nothing compare to what I would do for my pack.” Ghost huffed. That’s for sure. If that was Kate, or Gaz, or Alex, or even Farah who he barely knew… “Take any weapon you want: I have explosives as well, but am not skilled at using them.” Soap grinned, sitting up then glancing at Ghost. He gestured him to move slow, but nodded.

“I am. I’ve got you, amigo.” Rudy smiled, continuing casually,

“And a heavy armored truck. I refurbished it myself.”

“Nice.” Ghost muttered, Rodolfo preening in pride at the compliment. He then cleared his throat.

“No airstrip, expect heli’s for supplies and security. CCTV security will let us find Alejandro and the other Los Vaqueros.”

Chapter 48: 2022, November 3rd part 2

Chapter Text

“You have this planned out.” Rodolfo nodded.

“I am skilled at hiding. That is what I do. While I find Alejandro, Soap will have to guide Ghost through to take care of security. He could do it alone, but your assistance will make it faster and safer. Extra guns to arm my pack. Let’s do this. But first, you both need new clothes. I have some.” Soap frowned.

“Clothes?”

“The blood, Johnny. Smell us coming a mile away.”

“Oh.” Soap had no problems taking off his shirt, Rudy finding the right size with some difficulty. He hesitated at his pants. Rudy connected the problem instantly, eyes softening. Was Ghost just dense, then?

“Want us to turn around?”

“…Y-yeah, sorry.” Soap mumbled. Rudy just spun around, changing into a way-too big shirt that was definitely Alejandro’s. And then it was Ghost. He gripped the hem, hesitating. They would see. They would KNOW. But he also needed to not get caught…he pulled it off. “Holy sh*te, what happened to you?”

“Soap, he won’t want to talk about it.”

“…Cartel.” He said stiffly. “Dio de Los Muertos. Sent to take Roba out. Mission went bent.” He pulled a new shirt on; careful his boxers were the only thing exposed as he changed pants.

“Did you kill him? I feel like you kill a lot of people…” Rudy asked nervously.

“Yeah. Deserved worse.” He turned forward. Soap asked, confused,

“Who the hell is Roba?”

“A very big dealer before V-Valeria. The biggest in Mexico. He had someone in every room and every government. Someone found a file with his entire network on it 5 months after he died, dug it out by the roots. I heard it was someone named Simon Riley, but that’s impossible. One man couldn’t do all of that.” Soap turned to face Ghost, looking both horrified and impressed.

“Hard to believe I wasn’t always this cute and cuddly? Used to be a lot worse.”

“Steaming Jesus, mate. Let’s go get our other cuddle-bug out, ay?” Ghost scoffed, cracking a smile under his mask.

“Roger.” They headed out, Soap asking lightly, shoulder bandaged and trying to stop himself from pushing Ghost for more information about what the f*ck caused that much scarring, “How long have you known Al, Rudy?”

“Almost 20 years, 30 years if you include my time in the alpha division. We joined together. Me, to get away from an abusive situation with my dead husband’s family.”

“Oh, sorry, mate.”

“Don’t be. I joined the military, and Al joined at the same time, but in the omega division. He was raised Alpha: he presented late and he’s so big. When he wasn’t an alpha, the shift from leader to…” Soap winced. He had a rough idea how omegas got treated, just based on his research into sexual assault cases and Iris’ explanations of them. It wasn’t pretty in most areas. “He joined to get away from them, and we bonded over our shared…problems. I stole intel and food for the omega division. That’s how Valeria caught on.” Rudy shook his head in anger. “Ale protected me when my gender was disclosed, and I explained things about being an omega he didn’t know and was too embarrassed to ask about. Toughest in the regiment, no matter the gender, Alejandro. No one can kill Alejandro but Alejandro.”

“Glad he’s on our side.” Soap muttered. “That why you’re so timid sometimes?” Rudy nodded.

“I was raised excessively traditionally. I didn’t think omegas could have autonomy until I enlisted. I still struggle at times.”

“Thanks for sharing.” Rodolfo nodded, knuckle-bumping Soap. “Let’s get your boys out, ay?”

“Si.” Ghost stopped, raising his gun. Soap did the same, spotting a few people. “Patrols. I’ll go close.”

“Two targets, first tower. Soap, your pick.”

“Left.” He fired, Ghost doing the same.

“I’ll flank, Rudy. Soap, watcher.” Soap kept an eye out as Rudy and Ghost decimated the patrol. “Clear, budge up.”

“Base of the tower: that’s our entry.” Rudy clarified, Soap catching up quickly as Rudy attached the ascender. “Check your fire up top: stay quiet.” They got in swiftly, Soap setting up at the CCTV as Ghost checked his weapons.

“I’ll plant charges with Soap’s eyes, find your men.” Ghost hesitated for a brief moment, then barked, “Watch for me.”

“Aye, LT.” Soap flipped through the screens for a bit.

“Johnny, clear?” He switched back to the one Ghost was on.

“Aye, go. One Shadow ahead, easy kill. One on the balcony, calls for a bullet. Little help’s not so bad, eh?”

“Stay focused, Johnny.” When did getting called Johnny not bother him? Though, he doubted telling Ghost to stop would do much. Not that he really minded it from him, at least.

“Just saying.”

“Keep it tactical.” Ghost warned.

“Go up, two in body armor. One just broke off. There’s a bin there: time to take out the trash.”

“Shut up, Soap. f*cking hell.” Soap chuckled.

“One on patrol in the razor wire. Use a blade. Truck ahead.”

“Sit-rep?”

“3 Shadows, one at the truck, 2 around the bend. Need a diversion.”

“Bomb planted. Moving.”

“There’s a generator down there.”

“Copy.” Damn. Ghost was ruthless and able.

“One’s heading to electrical.”

“Not if he bumps into me first.”

“I’m pretty good at this, eh, LT?”

“I’ve seen better.”

“Who?”

“Me.” Soap laughed at the slightly higher voice: Ghost had a funny streak, didn’t he?

“See a pickup you can sabotage.”

“Good call. Deal with explosives much?”

“Only when I’m bored. ALC’s ripe for a bomb, and shadow on the roof, ladder is on your left.”

“Copy.” Soap watched Ghost execute the one on the roof, then say with an audible smile, “Gonna do this one my way, watch.”

“f*cking beautiful, sir!” Ghost was at least less serious than before… “Go for bomb. 4 less to us chase.”

“We’re all set here, no more IEDs. We got Alejandro?”

“Perfect timing. I found him. Solitary, two on the door.”

“Not for long. RV outside the cellblock, we’ll pry him loose.”

“Let’s get him out. Good work.” Rodolfo preened at the comment.

“He’d come for us.” Rodolfo wasn’t nervous in here. Probably the protective instincts omegas were notorious for. It was once again his comfort zone, and Ghost seemed just as confident, if not more so. “Ghost, pop the lock. I’ve got him.” Soap was dragged in, Alejandro almost sinking his teeth into Soap’s throat-Rodolfo grabbed his jaws, nuzzling his neck as he prevented the jaws from clamping down.

“Rudy! Oh, Rudy…” He hugged Rudy, nuzzling him back. “Soap. Sorry.” Soap quickly backed up; breath shaky.

“You’re good-sh*te. One sec.” Soap shook it off as Alejandro took a gun from Rudy with a nod, Ghost glancing at Soap. “Solid.”

“Lead the way, Rudy. I’m with you.”

“Si, oscuro.” Soap stayed out of the snarling omegas’ ways as they headed upstairs, the commanders busting the others out of jail. There were too many, he couldn’t-he was surrounded, too much scent flooding his brain and making his heart pound-Ghost suddenly picked him up, easily setting him on his shoulders.

“Ghost?!” He barked at him hotly,

“Shoot, mate!” Soap did, balancing on Ghost’s shoulders as Ghost used a knife. “Johnny helped me set charges.”

“Johnny?” Soap actually snarled, Ghost looking up at him in surprise. “I can’t call him that.”

“Don’t.” He snapped angrily, Ghost blinking at him in confusion as Soap calmed down. “Only Ghost can pull it off. Sorry ‘bout that. Johnny’s got…some baggage with it.” Alejandro nodded vaguely.

“We all have skeletons, Hermano.” It got messy quick, Ghost keeping Soap on his shoulders and under cover so he didn’t get overwhelmed by the snarling omegas or shot by an enemy. They fought through viscerally, Ghost using knives while Soap sniped. Ghost was surprisingly a steady sniper nest and didn’t seem fazed at all by the weight.

“Push through, there’s a field we can use to flank, and get over the wall.” Soap looked up at the humming sound of a helicopter.

“Heli, seeking!” Ghost snapped,

“We need more than a gun to take it out, Johnny!”

“All stations, this is Bravo-6, get down!” Ghost dropped Soap instantly, tackling others to the ground as bullets flew, Soap stunned. Wasn’t Bravo-6 PRICE?

“Price!” Ghost shouted, scent actually filling with a hint of anise.

“Hell f*cking yeah!” Soap cheered.

“All Bravo and Vaqueros, Top of the wall, get here and we’ll get you out, how copy?”

“Loud and clear, Price, coming to you.” Ghost beamed as Rodolfo stuttered,

“W-who is he?” Soap almost answered a friend when Ghost said with a spark in his eyes that Soap hadn’t seen before,

“My pack leader.” Ghost was part of Price’s pack? 141, he could understand, but part of the PACK? Rodolfo nodded.

“I like him already.” Price pulled Soap up, Ghost actually taking Gaz’s hand without prompting. “Gaz, Price.”

“How’d you know?” Gaz said one word that filled Soap with relief.

“Laswell.” Price said quickly,

“Shepard went dark: Kate called me.”

“Solid as rock.” Ghost smiled, Soap helping Alejandro up.

“Colonel Vargas, meeting Captain Price and Sargeant Gaz.” He nodded to both of them, wary.

“Thanks for the assist, my men need cover fire.”

“Overwatch, now.” Soap fell in to the command easily, the scent of moss and cocoa comforting more than he’d ever admit. Price was one guy no one ever needed to doubt. “Nik’s got the car, we’re leaving!” Who was NIK? Nonetheless, Soap jumped the wall after Rodolfo. “Those two are ours, that one’s the one you brought.” Rudy called, hands shaking,

“Boss?” Alejandro nodded, giving him an order in Spanish. Rodolfo raced off, calling, “Captain, on me.”

“Got it. Gaz, cover!”

“Copy. Ghost, Soap, on me.” They got in, a very Russian man saying,

“Still intact, da?” Soap nodded in confusion: he was Nik, but WHO was Nik? Price said casually,

“This is my mate, Nikolai. Sit-rep, now.”

“Shepard burned us.” Ghost said flatly, hand still in Gaz’s. Soap elaborated,

“He sent Graves and his shadows to kill us and round up Los Vaqueros.”

“Kate found out why. Missiles got stolen during a black bag sale: Russian allies in the middle east. Shepard used Graves to do it, but the mission failed. Cover up was worse than the crime. Tried to talk to Shepard. Did not go well: we’re on our own, boys. Right. Soap, meet most of 141, about the pack. We’re missing two members, both back east. Gaz, Nik, Ghost, you, and me. Kate’s the official Theta, and the other two members are named Farah and Alex.” Soap nodded. Price and him were the only alphas. “Now, Ghost. You said you two worked out his issues with omegas?” Soap looked at him in horror.

“Work-in-progress. I like Johnny.” Gaz looked at Soap in sheer…impressment.

“Damn, what did you do?” Soap shrugged: he honestly wasn’t sure, but he offered a hand. Gaz took it.

“Nice to know Ghost has a pack. Thought he was a loner.”

“He does missions almost strictly lone wolf. That’s his preference.”

“Johnny’s my partner now, if he’s willing.” Price looked at Ghost, then turned to Soap.

“What do you say, Soap?” Soap laughed nervously.

“Daft bastard, took you long enough!” Ghost smiled behind his mask, Gaz looking even more impressed.

“Welcome to family, Soap.” Nikolai called cheerfully as they pulled into the safe house. “Let’s kill some shadows.” Soap did a double take, Price saying quickly,

“No, Nik, you’re still civilian, you’re staying out of the gunfight.” He rolled his eyes.

“Tch. I’ll go make coffee, then.”

“Sounds good, pepper spray. Colonel!” Price spoke in Spanish, Alejandro nodding. Since when did Price know Spanish??

“Vaqueros, pay attention.” Alejandro looked over Nikolai, then Gaz, and he nodded in approval.

“We’re taking back my base.”

“And we’re getting your prisoner. We’re also killing Graves.”

“When?” Rodolfo asked, looking at Price nervously. Ghost growled lowly,

“NOW.” Price nodded in agreement as Alejandro stated,

“This is a fight against our own.” Price continued,

“No more Los Vaqueros and 141. We fight as one.” Ghost dropped a whole bunch of masks on the table, then pulled off his own. Soap stared. Damn, he WAS a handsome f*cker. Price smiled.

“Good to see you again, Simon.” Soap called,

“Take a mask if you’re in, if not, don’t.” Ghost corrected Price as he pulled his mask on,

“Still Ghost, Price, but we’ll see if I can’t relax a bit.” He pulled on sunglasses, and Soap could swear he was grinning. “What do you think, Johnny? Ugly?” Soap laughed openly, grinning as he replied,

“You look like a daft bastard.” Ghost laughed back, a barking sound as anise spiked the air again. Everyone in his pack looked at him with warm eyes. So despite having a good sense of humor (if a bit dark), he didn’t laugh much. Odd. Alejandro spoke with Price rapidly, both of them switching between English and Spanish rapidly. When Nik appeared, he nodded along as if he, too, could understand while he handed out coffee.

“It is strong.” Soap downed the entire cup, Ghost drinking half of it before handing it back to Nik.

“Team one is Captain Price, me, Gaz, and one pilot. Team two is Soap, Ghost, Rudy, and Los Vaqueros. Team 1 will use the tunnels to get to the tarmac and commandeer a helo.”

“I swear if I get put in another heli-” Gaz warned.

“I’ll keep you on the ground, Gaz.” Price eased.

“My pilot will take the captain up.” Nik gasped teasingly.

“You’re seeing another pilot? How could you…” Price rolled his eyes.

“Keep going, Colonel. My pack’s listening.”

“Team 2 will stand by outsie until Price fires on the entry gate and lets them in to fight their way to Graves. I suspect he’ll be in my HQ, defended by his best shooters.” Ghost shook his head.

“No. He’s on the ground. He’s a f*cker, not a coward.”

“Then we will find him sooner.” Rudy scowled out.

“While Gaz and I locate and secure Valeria, team 2 will find Graves and kill him.”

Chapter 49: 2022, November 3rd part 3

Chapter Text

“Four Ghosts in the tunnel.”

“Copy- our codes still work.” Gaz kept his eyes wide and open as Alejandro stated,

“Affirmative. What's your status?”

“1 klick from the gate.”

“Good work. Gaz, cover my six. Weapons hot, hermanos...” Gaz grabbed Alejandro’s shoulder as buzzing hit his ears.

“Listen. Traps.” Price nodded, tilting his head to better hear.

“Alerts- Likely connected to charges.” Alejandro scowled as Price chucked a smoke grenade down the plumbing tunnel. “f*cking gauntlet-” Gaz stepped forward.

“My skillset, sir.”

“Take point, Gaz.” He disabled them easily, waving his team onwards as he kept disarming traps.

“I hate to see this in my base. When we find Graves... lo mantamos despacio.”

“Take the high road, Vargas.”

“Si, but it’s nice to dream. My men use these tunnels. We practice escape and evasion down here...” They spoke rapid Spanish, the only word Gaz recognizing being asada. A green door? “See that door, take a left. Hush: we're not alone.” 3 shadows, fortifying the tunnels. How…annoying.

“Bloody maze down here.”

“Good thing you got me- This way.” Alejandro put in the codes, shaking his head.

“Set traps, didn’t change the codes.”

“Never expected to see us...”

“This goes to ground level: keep steady.” More targets, more silenced gunshots.

“Once we're topside, there'll be birds on the tarmac. My pilot will take you up, Captain.” Price nodded.

“Rog. Let's kill the rest of these traps and get moving.”

“Clear.” Gaz called, following Alejandro’s instructions all the way to a ladder.

“Hold your fire, we're in the center of the base. We'll secure a helicopter and get you airborne, Captain. Gaz, with me.” Gaz went with Alejandro inside. “Stay quiet if you want to live.” Gaz just nodded, as he heard Graves' voice ring out over the loudspeaker.

“I sent a crew down to fortify the tunnels and they went dark.”

“We’ll check-” Gaz noticed how terrified Graves sounded.

“Hold your position. I want everything locked down. If anyone's here, let 'em come to us-- 1 out.” They killed everyone before Alejandro spoke again as he reloaded.

“Shadow is heads up on a helo. Should let us move. Valeria is in Hangar 3. Stay low and we’ll get there.” They were in sight of Hangar 3 before Gaz spoke.

“Any clue Graves was up to no good?”

“I keep an eye on alphas. Graves, I…I trusted him more than most.”

“Bad men can do good things.”

“Good men can do bad too.” Gaz nodded in agreement, thinking back to his first mission with Price.

“Gringo means?”

“In the Mexican-American War, 1847, the Americans wore green coats, Mexicans wanted them to leave- ‘Green go home.’ Gringo. We make it out of here alive, I'll teach you some good Mexican curse words.”

“f*ck yeah.” Gaz was always down to learn some way to bother Price, Nik, and Ghost.

“Sounds like the boys are givin' 'em hell out there. Bad day to be a Shadow. Careful, outside door is open.” Alejandro put in the code, then said quickly, “Valeria is in a container across the hangar. She'll be well protected. Let's roll in quiet.” Graves spoke again, sounding more panicked than before.

“We got an assault team outside the HQ, they're gonna breach. I want all shooters holding their sectors- I got what I need here. We're going on the offensive-- That clear?”

“Yep yep!” Alejandro and Gaz made eye contact: Team 2 made it inside. They took out the Shadows, and Alejandro banged on the container door.

“Valeria!”

“Alejandro.”

“Good. Now, we secure this position until Soap, Ghost, and Rudy take Graves.”

“Gaz to Bravo-6. Prisoner secure.”

“Rog. Stay sharp. We're going for Graves.”

“All Ghosts - I'm wheels up with eyes on.” Ghost nodded stiffly.

“Copy. Two inbound to gate, clear hot when marked.” Rudy said quickly,

“We think Graves is in the HQ holding his ground, or in the field. Once we’re in, we split up. Close air clears the way.”

“We locate Graves and kill him. ¿Comprende?” Soap looked at him in confusion as Rudy laughed, saying in Spanish,

“Completely, Lieutenant. All Ghosts, stand by for breach.”

“Soap, get the designator and mark targets for Price in the helo.”

“Roger, amigo.” He grumbled, Ghost smirking. “Good to go. Request for fire. Target marked.”

“Acquired, rounds down.” Soap jumped at the explosion, then practically giggled.

“Keep it tactical, pyro. Good guns, old man.”

“On me, go, go!” Rudy called briskly, everyone darting forward as Ghost snapped,

“If Graves is in the HQ, we need to find him, keep pushing up.” Ghost was barely keeping up the agile bugger that was Soap. That less than a day-old bullet wound was practically doing nothing-unless Soap was unnaturally fast when not injured.

“The barracks to the main building. That's the HQ. Graves would be there.”

“Tower looks like it’ll get us closer.” They bulldozed even further in, Ghost observing, “Still got your flag up on the HQ.”

“Let's keep it that way. Check the door, Soap.”

“Locked. Got a breacher?”

“Si, but-” Soap grabbed it, prepping and setting it. Rudy sighed. “Clear to engage all threats. If you see Graves, kill him.”

“Sorry about your base. Only explosive I’ll use inside.”

“Gracias, hermano. In 3,2,1-- Execute!”

“Contact! Second deck. He's on the run!” Soap barked, Rudy snapping,

“Second floor! Move!” They cleared out the building, finding an exit in the control room. Rudy swore, sliding down the railing to get to the bottom as Price’s heli flew around.

“All stations, be advised, Graves went over the wall-” Ghost yelped out, actual fear in his tone,

“RPG!” As the helicopter got it. “Price!”

“Hit! We're hit, going down!” Soap winced as Ghost charged off.

“Steaming hell, captain…” Rudy swore, pointing to the fence.

“Graves is over this: let’s stop him.”

“What’s on the other side?”

“Training area.”

“The hell’s he doing back there? Hold on, I’ve got you.” Rudy scrambled up, then looked at Soap.

“I don’t know if I can-” Soap took his hand, Rudy yanking him up. “You are very light!”

“Aye, blessing in disguise.” He smiled. “Let’s end this arsehole-uh?!”

“That’s not ours, correnos!”

“Graves brought a f*cking tank?!”

“Looks like the hunters are gettin' hunted now, huh? Ain't that a kick in the ass?”

“Can't wait to bake this bastard.”

“We'll need something strong to break that tank. This is our training area- we’ve got plastique around, plenty we can use.”

“Nice!”

“You and your Mexicano friends f*cked with the wrong hombre, MacTavish.” Soap didn’t think so, but Graves sounded even more hysterical now than before.

“Come on out and let's talk about it.”

“You think this is a f*cking game out here? You wanna play war? Let's play some f*ckin' war, chicos! One o' you dipsh*ts needs to die last-- who's it gonna be?”

“Go f*ck yourself, Graves.” Soap hissed spitefully.

“You got a healthy disrespect for authority, Soap. I like that about you.”

“You're Shepherd's lapdog. You get paid to break the rules.” He didn’t break them on purpose: they just didn’t make a lick of sense at times and it was better to just…punch a potential rapist.

“There's only two rules here, boys. Walk away or win. Guess which one I choose? Shoulda gone home when you had the chance, Soap- you and Simon, that masked asshole, hiding behind that uniform.”

“You wore that uniform!” Now it sounded like projection. Soap was not a therapist (he definitely needed some, though), and Graves didn’t know them well enough to be trying to use that kind of logic.

“That uniform was a limitation. I shed that skin.”

“Like a f*ckin' snake-”

“Like a f*cking soldier!”

“You had to make your own little army, because you couldn't hack it in the real one.”

“Hahahah! That's almost funny coming from a breeder like you, but then again, I remember my first rodeo too. You're on the short road to hell now, son. I told you to go home, but you didn't listen.”

“You'll hang for this, bastard.”

“Knock that honor sh*t off, Johnny.” His whole being bristled at the name, Rudy cutting away to do something. “I'll be sipping tequila, forgetting where I buried your ass in a week. That goes for both of you. Can you say the same?” Johnny watched as Rudy stuck a massive chunk of plastique onto the front of the tank, then disappeared before it detonated. “Hey- Rodolfo! Don't go thinking los Uno, Quatro, Unos are su amigos, Rodolfo, 'cause they ain't. Ellos no le gusta usted. Cuando estes complete, los amigos will drop los vaqueros like a bad f*cking habit, brother. ¿Comprende?”

“I’ve got Graves' attention now.” Rudy hissed, Soap whistling as he rammed the last chunk of it that he could find onto the side of the tank nearest the engine and blowing it as soon as he was clear. The tank was practically ash now. “You did it, Soap.”

“We both did, hermano.” Rudy scoffed, looking astonished.

“We brought guns to a tank fight.”

“Yeah, we f*cking did, and we won. Ghost, with Rudy. Graves is KIA. How’s Price?” Ghost scoffed.

“Angry. Lost a good cigar in the crash. Pilot’s okay, too. Out.”

“Priorities, huh, amigo?” Rodolfo nodded.

“Let’s get to my priority, amigo.” Soap took off after him, right to Valeria. Rodolfo didn’t go into the container, and Soap had to fight revealing his neck again at her overpowering scent just outside. Price, Gaz, Alejandro, and Ghost did go in. A few minutes after, Price stated, growl loud enough for Soap and Rudy to hear outside of the container,

“You knew there was a third missile?”

“Oh, I didn’t count them. I have people for that.” Gaz asked, voice quailing slightly but still firm as Soap leaned against the metal to hear more clearly,

“Where’s Hassan?” Ghost barked, and his voice didn’t quail.

“Where’s the other missile?” She CROONED at him, making Soap’s hair stand on end,

“Chicago. I like you, little puppy-” Ghost snarled harshly, Gaz cutting him off with an angry,
“What the f*ck’s going on?”

“I said I’d tell you where he was. I didn’t say I would stop him.” Alejandro marched her out with Gaz, Soap tensing to stop from reacting. Ghost was bristling VISIBLY, body tensed like a spring. Soap put a hand on him.

“You alright?”

“Tagging motherf*cker.” He snarled. Tagging? Soap looked at Price in confusion.

“Gobby.” Ah. “You’ll pick up quick. Prep for transport and get Laswell- Hassan and the missile are in Chicago.”

“Yes, sir.” Rudy tensed as Valeria got closer, but opened the door as Alejandro spoke more Spanish.

“I’ll be free in 24 hours. Can’t say the same about you, Vaqueros.”

“You’re going down for what you did.” She scoffed.

“It doesn’t matter what I did. It matters what you can prove.” Soap scowled as Rudy closed the door. Alejandro offered a hand.

“Go, you have work to do.”

“Keep fighting the good fight, hermano.” Soap said tensely, shaking his hand firmly while still evading the gloves scent glands.

“To the bitter end, my brother.” Rudy smiled.

“Good luck, amigos.” Alejandro waved Ghost down, the still fuming man looking at him blankly.

“No te pierdas, carnal!”

“A huevo, fosforo.” Alejandro’s eyes widened, Rudy snorting in his hand as the bay doors closed.

“What’s all that?”

“He said don’t get lost, brother. I said of course, matchstick.” Soap looked at him.

“You knew Spanish the whole bloody time?!” Ghost nodded as his eyes sparked lightly. “You’re teaching me, mate.”

“Teach me Scottish.”

“Deal.” Gaz shook his head.

“How the hell did you unlock the jokes in 2 days? Took me 2 years…” Soap shrugged: he had no idea. “Valaeria told us the 3^rd missile was smuggled into the US through the Chicago port.”

“Hassan and his AQ soldiers are with it?” Soap asked, Price nodding as Ghost continued,

“We don’t know exactly where the missile is or where it’s headed.”

“We do know Hassan was taken to a building in downtown Chicago owned by a shell company of the Las Almas cartel. Good work to both of you boys for getting that intel.” Soap and Ghost both perked up, Kate adding over the phone,

“Police are on the ground cordoning off streets around the building, and are on the lookout for a stolen container full of weapons. They do not know we are dealing with a missile.” Gaz seemed displeased about that, but said nothing. “We believe Hassan is holed up in a fortified server room on the 54^th floor of this building. I’m on the ground working to locate the missile.”

“I’m infil with the Marines on the Chicago river: move in on ground. Ghost?” Ghost looked at Gaz. “Aren’t you in heat?”

“Start tomorrow. I’ll heli up to an OP across the objective for armed overwatch: can’t do melee in that condition, but I can provide cover and visual.” Ghost stated as Soap swore. He was almost in heat and was still doing all of that?? Price nodded.

“Good work, Ghost. We’ll touch two helos down on the roof of the target building: one with Marines, the other with me and Soap. Cleaning house is his specialty, and once this is over, you’ll go on med until that gunshot heals.” Kate continued,

“While Gaz and the Marines push up, Price and Soap will work their way down, with Soap repelling to the server floor, pinching Hassan in the middle. Our primary mission is to locate and stop the missile. You have execute-authority to kill Hassan.”

Chapter 50: 2022, November

Chapter Text

2022, November 4^th: “Watcher 1 to Bravo 6 Actual. Perimeter is secure. We have a possible hit on the missile container, we’re moving in now.”

“Bravo 6-2 is 20 seconds from target building. Intel reports multiple AQ inside.”

“Ghost, set overwatch?”

“On the-” He bit his lip for a second. “Move.” Ghost set up on the building, having to pause periodically for pain to ease a bit.

“Floor 56 is our primary objective. It’s well fortified with limited access. Hassan may be holed up there.”

“Let’s nail this bastard, sir.” Soap snapped, Ghost laying down. The cold concrete ceiling was not helping the pain, but he wouldn’t shake, at least. Price called,

“Ghost, we’re set. Eyes on?”

“Affirm. Flashing now. Got civs. Hostages. Careful.” Ghost watched the windows, checking for Hassan, hostages, and enemies. That was his job now: finding this f*cker and reporting position. “Possible spot, 46^th floor.”

“Copy, we’re moving. Keep watch as we go down.”

“On it.” He scanned the building. “All Bravo, be advised. Hassan is in the stairwell, moving down.”

“Gaz, he’s headed your way!”

“Roger.” Ghost muted his comms just as he let out a whine of agony that ripped through his body. sh*t, it was going to be a bad one, wasn’t it? All the stress and fogging up adding up to hurt him. He unmuted himself as Kate shouted,

“The missile is launching!” It went over his building, but Ghost couldn’t do anything to stop it. He kept his eyes open.

“Watcher, Hassan has the missile controls, we’re going after him.”

“Copy. Be advised, the missile is headed towards DC. We don’t have much time to divert.” Ghost felt sick. Kate’s in-laws lived there. Price suddenly called, much to Ghost’s confusion,

“Soap, what’s your status?”

“Construction floor. Controls secured, lost my weapon.” Ghost scanned the building-located. “Detonated. Pleasure doing business with you, Kate.”

“Where’s Hassan?” She asked in a forced calm.

“Not alone. He’s got AQ guards with him. I’m going to kill every one of them, then I’m going for him. Out here.”

“Nicely done, Johnny.” Ghost said as flatly as he could with agony in his veins. “Now for the hard part.”

“That was the f*cking hard part, LT.”

“Let’s find out. You need to stay alive, take out the guards, and kill Hassan.”

“Just need a weapon.”

“Make one.” He chuckled softly.

“Like old times, eh, LT?”

“Feels like yesterday.” He half-joked, only for Soap to correct,

“It was yesterday.” The silence gnawed at Ghost, him scanning the building for Soap. But he also knew talking would not go well with Soap being hunted down in an enclosed, and echo-y, building. He heard gunshots, and scanned even harder as Hassan spoke Arabic, through Soap’s comms. “Ghost…”

“Soap.”

“Watch the window.” He found the right window, and fired. “Perfect shot…oh, that’s hurts like sh*te…” Gaz checked over Soap’s side once they got to Nik’s heli, Ghost watching him nervously.

“He’ll be fine, mate. Good patch job.” Ghost barked,

“You are going on med leave.” Soap protested Ghost, huffing slightly,

“Gaz say’s I’m fine!” Price corrected, looking over at Ghost with knowing eyes,

“Will be fine. You need to rest, you moppet.” Soap huffed, but knew he’d never win against Ghost and Price. Gaz helped him get to a room as Price asked Ghost, “How long?” Ghost sighed, showing his injured shoulder. He didn’t know what caused the knife wound, only that it happened after Graves betrayed them and before he came to near the church.

“Yesterday.” Price sighed, rubbing his head as he pulled out the med kit.

“Damn Scot got your throat, huh?” Ghost shrugged: he wasn’t quite sure. “Brother or romantic?”

“…don’t know.”

“Going to act or no?”

“No.” Price nodded, quickly bandaging the knife wound.

“Well, keep me updated. You need cover or alone?”

“Alone.” Price nodded at the instant response.

“I’ll be there soon: paperwork never ends.”

“Going to my grave.” Ghost muttered, shuffling off to the apartment. Nik took his hand with a smile, Ghost nodding in appreciation. He wasn’t actually sure if he’d be able to get there in one piece.

“Sleep well, eh?”

2022, November 5^th: “Hey, Konig. Uh, how…angry are you?” Konig paused at hearing the cracking voice over the radio. How mad was he? He had no WORDS for how angry he was. Thousands murdered, executed. At least 40 via Graves’ own hands, likely more. “Ah. Well, can’t really ask forgiveness: way too late for that.” Konig agreed with that, exchanging the bag again, Nikto looking at him in concern and heading back out with Velikan as the man muttered to himself about,

“Not training with that guy so pissed off. Don’t want us to die.” Konig tapped the bag again. They were losing density. He’d refill them after this round.

“…Guess you’re not in the mood to talk, then.” Whatever gave him that idea, Konig asked mentally with a deeper scowl. “Um, I wanted to give you a warning. This wasn’t my call. I…I tried to…f*ck.” Graves groaned-pain? Konig’s every sense narrowed on Graves instantly. He was in intense pain. “I tried to say no. Not, uh, really an option for me at this point. My boss is angry as hell, since I, uh, let you go after Horangi’s group. Didn’t even help, but he didn’t care. Um, Oz helped me set up a safe house for a bit, until my boss calms down to think rationally. The issue is, uh, the new commander…well, let’s just say she’s not the nicest lady in the world.” A nervous chuckle, finished with a slight cough. Bruised rib: day old. “Don’t worry about me, I’m replaceable. Always have been. But you’re not. Don’t find someone like you often. Willing to push through things, even hate to do what’s right. Hell, I’m not even like that, never have been. Uh, her name’s Valeria. Until I win his, uh, favor back, she’s in charge. Also goes by El Sin Nombre.” Konig’s claws came out, cutting the bag open as sand spilled out from the hole. Cartel leader, drug dealer, arms dealer. Recently helped a terrorist go into America. “I…um, yeah. I’m sure you’ve heard of her; you know all the big hitters. sh*t. She’ll be…a pain in the ass, so…just be careful, okay? Don’t you die on me, too. You’ve, uh, been around since I started this. Just…stay there until I can explain in person. After that, you can leave. I won’t make you stay: don’t think I could. But please let me explain it in person…” Konig didn’t reply, and the comms just went silent. He pulled off the bag and grabbed a bag of sand, refilling the bags as his eyes burned. He needed to sleep. He was too angry to sleep. He scowled, taping the bags up,

“Konig!” He jerked up at the shout. Zero? The beta was usually watching the medbay-his earlobe had been bitten off. “I can’t get him-” Konig was to his feet as soon as he started looking frantic. “-to stop!” Konig was darting through the halls quickly, Zero adding as he was increasing the gap between them with each step, “I’m not strong enough to restrain him!” He burst open the doors to the medbay, Vega shouting at people to stay away from the frantic Horangi who was brandishing a syringe and scalpel with wild eyes and the rage of a thousand suns as he snarled in warning. Konig didn’t hesitate. As scared as Horangi had to be, he was too dangerous and too injured to let be running around like he was. He grabbed Horangi’s arms.

“Abregen, Horangi-” He held him far enough he couldn’t bite him, the man struggling viciously. “Abregen-eh, Englisch?”

“Calm down.” Vega offered, standing between the medics and Horangi (and Konig, who they yelped and cowered away from).

“Calm. Danke. Calm down. I am Konig, Ja?” He bared his teeth wide enough that Konig could see the individual fangs through the mask. “You are safe.” He had ripped the IV’s needle out of his own arm and was using it as a weapon, breath shaking and eyes wide. Konig pinned his arms in front of him and hugged him tightly. “You are SAFE. You are scared, I know, but you are safe.” Horangi’s heart rate was high, him still squirming to get out of Konig’s grip. He didn’t let him go. “You are okay.”

“Colonel?” He looked up at Vega, blinking. “Are you okay?” He nodded.

“I will stay. Until he calms down. Can you treat his arm?”

“If you hold him still.” Konig nodded. It was painstakingly slow. Each limb had to be treated, bandages changed. Which means he had to keep shifting his grip on the man to where he wouldn’t hurt someone else while trying to defend. Oh, sure, Konig could use his alpha voice. He’d used it before on people. But it usually just caused intense panic and submission: neither of which would help Horangi to realize he was safe and wouldn’t get hurt. Instead, Konig gently ran his fingers over Horangi’s scarred hands from something years before (looked like he had tried to grab a weedwhacker or something of the like), softly repeating his name and that he was safe. After the treatments ended, and night fell, Konig felt his body start to nod off. He gritted his teeth. This wasn’t a situation he could sleep in: he would stay awake for another day. Then all of a sudden, Horangi went slack.

“Eh? Where-let the f*ck go!” Konig grip tightened slightly at the sudden non-violent protests at being held the way he was.

“Last you were goose; you attacked many people.”

“Goose?” Horangi paused, looking puzzled.

“Englisch is not my skill.” Konig huffed. “When you were not restrained.”

“Oh, loose. I was…loose? Why was I unrestrained? Where the f*ck am I?”

“Texas, America. Easy.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Konig. I work for a group called Shadow Company, but was a colonel in the Austrian Army. You are?”

“Horangi.” Horangi struggled to shift around to face Konig. “Konig sounds like king. You a royal?”

“It means King, but Nien.”

“No sense of humor. Bandages?”

“What is the last thing you remember?”

“Last? Uh…” His eyes went unfocused. “Borko: Chinese, charcoal scent, uses a chain, right-handed, fluent in Mandarin, Thai, Korean, and Japanese. Cannot speak English. Military engineer corp. Has a cat, orange tabby. Fear of roaches. 47^th session, newest transfer. Doesn’t like backtalk, gags you if you rebel. Will hit harder if you do not move, and if you make a sound. Married, modernist. Mating bond on his left forearm, ring on his left hand. Second one walked in: there is never two. Yuni: Hong Kong, ginger scent, uses a knife. Right-handed, but used to be left-handed. Fluent in Japanese, Mandarin, English, and 4 Chinese dialects. Has a cat, calico with brown spot. 178^th session, original member. Likes to hear begging, pets you if you obey. Will cut scent glands if you recoil. Widowed, killed her omega. High rank in the terrorist organization: 5 rungs down at minimum. Hyper independent, sire omega is a sensitive topic due to neglect out of spite for his mate. Listens closely: watch your words. She put on the choker, talking in Chinese. Vision went blurry: too tight. They left, and a newcomer came. Biggest f*cker I’ve ever seen, hood on. Cedar scent. Uses a sniper rifle in a building. German? Said he was a rescuer. I didn’t believe him-you. That was you. That’s all I can remember until just now. Where are you from?”

“Austria.” Konig said flatly and faintly. Horangi certainly was an interrogator, identifying that much information. Horangi went limp again. “Easy, tiger.”

“You know Korean?”

“Nien, I read your file.” He nodded vaguely.

“…They all think I’m dead, don’t they?”

“Most likely.” Horangi scoffed, closing his eyes; and leaning onto Konig’s arm.

“I’m used to it.” He blacked out. Deciding he was likely fine now (though he definitely wasn’t going to leave him alone to attack someone else), Konig almost laid down next to him. But first, a precaution. He had relaxed once he knew Konig was the one who pulled him out of that hellhole. He headed to his room, and grabbed a sweater his mama had knitted him as a thank you for a quilt he’d made for her. He reentered the medical wing, and carefully shifted Horangi to a sitting position but slowly, so he didn’t wake him up. He edged the sweater over his ridiculously small body, and almost snorted as he saw he couldn’t see the guy’s hands anymore. He rolled up the sleeves so it was only a little longer than his hands, then laid down, eyes closing. f*ck, he was so tired. He was glad he wasn’t expected to go on mission for a while…

2022, November 26^th: “How’s it looking, boys?”

“Glad to be back in the fight, Laswell.” Gaz tapped Soap’s shoulder, making him wince.

“Barely.” Price snapped,

“Don’t push yourself: no stunts for a few more weeks.”

“Aye, got it. You sound like me cousin.” Gaz looked at him oddly, but he didn’t say anything more.

“Security confirms gunfire and at least one explosion in the stadium with multiple injuries, over. Scarecrow is taking command from here, boys.”

“Thanks for leading them in, Kate. Be advised, Makarov and his men may still be inside. If he’s there, you bring him out alive. He has extremely valuable intel.”

“Roger that, where’s medical?”

“First responders will not enter until the scene is clear: too dangerous. 3^rd floor VIP lounge may be Makarov’s next target. My team will be RVing with you: we’re 10 mikes out. Let’s bag this bastard. Out here.”

“Threatens the airport, hits the stadium instead, the f*ck.” Soap hissed under his breath.

“Check your shots, we’re dealing with unknowns and a madman. Keep it clean.”

“Makarov?” Gaz asked. Price shot him and Soap a look.

“We still follow orders, even if we left SAS. ROE still stands. We take him alive.” It was absolute madness. Soap was glad Price was driving-

“They’re killing CIVS!”

“Contact, go loud! Inner Circle’s posing as police!”

“They’d have access to VIP.”

“3^rd floor, let’s move. Scarecrow, we’re internal and pushing to VIP area. Be advised, Inner Circle is posing as police, over!”

“Copy that, Bravo. Consider all police hostile.” Soap felt ill. “We’re almost there, keep moving!”

“Stairwell, keep moving, Sargeant! Clear it!”

“Aye! Clear.”

“Eyes on VIP area.” Soap fired at the paramedics. “Soap, what the-” He gestured to their wrist, hands shaking.

“Nik has that tattoo: said it meant Ultra-Nationalist loyal.” Price nodded.

“Good call, then.” There were explosives here. Gaz took care of them while Price and Soap pushed on. They found Makarov in an ambulance, and Soap searched him.

“He’s clean.” Zip-ties, more compact cuff-links. He pushed the monster in human form along, trying to ignore Makarov’s taunts. They didn’t mean anything: ramblings of a madman. Price watched Makarov while Soap cleaned house each time: it was his specialty. They got out of the tunnel eventually, Price calling,

“Scarecrow, we’re external. East side of the stadium. What’s your status?”

“On station. You’ve got enemy personnel moving in from the North. Keegan will provide sniper support with M.”

“Copy. We’ll meet you at primary exfil. Soap, watch Makarov: I’ll clear the way.”

“Aye, sir.” Makarov taunted,

“You don’t talk much.”

“I don’t talk to sh*te, that’s all, Vlad.”

“Soap, clear, move it!” A guy Soap didn’t know pulled him up, built like a brick with a sniper rifle on his side, Price shoving Makarov in. He noted with relief Gaz was already inside the helicopter. “Keegs.”

“Price.” Makarov looked amused.

“Keegan Patrick Russ and Thomas Merrick, all with John Price, John MacTavish, and Kyle Garrick.” The Ghosts spared one glance at each other, Elias snarling in full alpha tone as Merrick grabbed Keegan, him covering his ears for some reason,

“You want to live, do not threaten my men, Vladimir.”

“Are we on first name basis, Elias?”

“What’s the f*cking rest of your plan?” Soap snapped angrily.

“This.” What?

“Amazing, you’re all dumber than you look.” Elias snarled,

“I asked you a question.”

“And I have a question for you. What time is it?”

“Time? The f*ck do you care?”

“Timing is everything, Soap. I think we’ll all remember this moment. Some more fondly than others.” Keegan’s eyes widened, Soap joining him at the window as bombs detonated at the airport. Soap lost it, slamming Makarov into the ground.

“I’ll blow your f*cking brains out, Makarov, you hear me I swear to god I’ll-”

“Soap, don’t!” Price snapped, Gaz trying to deescalate as Soap’s breathing was erratic. Elias barked,

“We have him-”

“sh*t-boss!” Gaz helped Merrick keep Keegan from sinking his teeth into anyone, straining to keep him down.

“He’s in custody, he’s not going anywhere! Stand down.” Price set a hand on his shoulder as Keegan was snarling.

“We have him, MacTavish.” He sat back down, Gaz putting a hand on his back and gripping his shirt. In case he lost it again.

“You’ll die in a gulag with the rest of the f*cking Ultra-Nationalists, you-” Price looked at Merrick in horror at the string of Russian curses flooding out of his mouth. Soap knew exactly one of them. Makarov locked eyes with Soap.

“I’ll be seeing you again, MacTavish. I’m afraid the Ghosts are someone else’s pet project.” Merrick decked him, the man hitting the wall unconscious. Soap frowned, Gaz asking in puzzlement,

“Pet project?” Keegan suddenly stopped making noise, going limp as he looked around blearily.

“Oh, sh*t. Sorry, did I bite you?” Merrick shook his head, Soap noting he was hiding the hand he didn’t hit Makarov with.

“Don’t worry about it. We’ve told you not to apologize for that. Breathe, everything’s good.” Price echoed Gaz’s question.

“Who’s after you?” Keegan’s eyes hardened, Price actually taking a step back.

“That is none of your f*cking business, John.” Soap almost stepped forward, but the look Keegan shot him made him rethink that, quickly. Merrick continued flatly as Keegan glared,

“We don’t pry into yours; you don’t pry into ours. We call if we need help, same to you, but neither of us questions. Got it?”

“Crystal.” Price said uncertainly, glancing at Keegan in alarm. Soap asked,

“Err, am I missing something?” Keegan’s eyes softened.

“Right, you’re the new guy. I’m Keegan, or Keegs. This is my pack; Elias is my boss. We’ve worked around your group before, and my best friend is his best friend’s wife. We’re not friends, but I love f*cking with him. I don’t respond well to alpha tones: turn feral for a bit. That’s about all your group knows.” Soap said uncertainly,

“Right…where’s that bastard going?”

“Somewhere he’ll never get out again.” Elias said flatly, nodding. Soap didn’t think that was good enough, but he also knew he didn’t really get a say in it, especially since they’d left the military. With Nik being so involved and tensions with Russia spiking thanks to that bastard, Price chose to step down rather than let his mate get questioned again. And when he stepped down, so did the rest of them. Iris had wholeheartedly supported Soap’s decision, saying,

“Military’s great, but if you can do what you think is right inside the system, better to leave the system.” Soap closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to calm down. Technically, they were still government sanctioned: they just weren’t in the military…

“You solid?”

“Aye, don’t like that f*cker.” Gaz nodded in agreement, Keegan talking quietly to Elias as Price checked on Soap’s shoulder.

Chapter 51: 2022, December

Chapter Text

2022, December 1^st: Horangi was…better now. He wasn’t in the type of pain he’d grown used to as best one could, wasn’t struggling to breath and his movement was back to before. Oh, sure, sometimes he would jerk away from someone touching him, but that wasn’t that unusual for him even before everything. It wasn’t unusual for anyone, frankly. And even better, no one had noticed he wasn’t an alpha, and his captors were all dead at the hands of the massive Austrian apex that had carried him out of there. The issue was, he didn’t have anywhere to go. His investigations had confirmed: he was reported KIA, and the fact he was a refuge from North Korea being known now made returning impossible without dying. He was stranded with strangers in a strange dynamic he didn’t understand. The massive man seemed to be a high rank, but he also certainly wasn’t in CHARGE. He usually wore a mask unless he was in a meeting, even in training or talking to people. He didn’t wear gloves, either: Horangi could see deep burns on his knuckles. Konig didn’t talk much. If he did, it was short and clipped, or extremely sassy. Definitely angry about something, but that anger was swiftly replaced by concern over something else over these last few weeks. It wasn’t that he hid anything about himself: he would answer questions without hesitating, and seemed to be an extremely honest man. He just didn’t seem to LIKE talking, or large groups, or people getting in his space. The answer as to why made Horangi laugh internally. The massive man that he had seen break a concrete wall had anxiety. The man strong enough to destroy and handle anyone was terrified of social situations. It was HILARIOUS. But Horangi felt at…peace around him. Safe, secure. He tried to strangle it. Even after years of denying it, hiding it, dismissing it, he was still an omega. The quiet confidence Konig had in his ability and commanding presence without being forceful put Horangi at ease. He sighed, pulling open the shower room door. He needed a f*cking shower-He looked up at the face of a very alarmed Konig.

“J-ja?” He pulled on his mask instantly, evading eye contact with the giant Austrian.

“sh*t. Is there another shower?”

“Nien, it’s fine. There’s a shower schedule. Some are…aware of their scars.” Konig shook his head, decidedly looking at the wall. “I…take one alone, but you can join.”

“Eo, thanks.” Konig was looking dead at the wall, looking highly embarrassed, but it washed away quickly. Horangi chatted about nothing in particular, mostly about different Korean foods. Food was usually a safe topic. Then Konig spoke softly.

“I’m sorry.” Horangi frowned.

“What for?”

“I didn’t…get there soon enough. I wasn’t there when you needed help.” Oh. Horangi chuckled past the pain.

“Don’t be. You got there, didn’t you? You didn’t know, either: you were not the one at fault.” Konig was quiet, and Horangi stated, “Yuki’s the one who should be sorry from hell. I told him not to say anything. He thought they would stop if they knew he didn’t know. They were asking about cartel movements: I was the only one who had that information. When Yuki said I knew, they decided to convince me to tell them by torturing my team one by one in front of me, all 9. Obviously, that failed.”

“Neun? But there was-”

“Eo. Sumi got…mulched.” He admitted softly. “Frankly, I’m just glad to be…away from there.” Konig nodded vaguely, going to step out of the running water as he finished- “You didn’t wash your back.”

“Eh? Oh, Ja, i-it’s fine.” Horangi tapped the wall, scowling.

“Turn around, geoin.” Konig shifted in discomfort, but complied. He was rather submissive for someone considered to be among the most powerful, violent, and successful leaders of the world, making Horangi smirk slightly. He was going to have fun with him. Konig let out a slight moan, bracing himself against the wall as Horangi gave him a backwash and massage. His back was just as hard as his stomach had been when Horangi kicked him. Damn, how much did this guy exercise? Train? LIFT? There wasn’t anything but sheer muscle on him, despite his age being obvious from the graying hair and multiple mild scarring. “Stop moaning: I’m trying to focus on making you relax. Don’t make it hard to concentrate, geoin.”

“Bitte Sie, your hands are…too good.”

“I’ll pay for a masseuse next time: their hands are even better than this.” Konig nodded slightly, sighing in relief. Horangi frowned as he spotted the burn scars on his fingers again. “…Want to trade scar stories?”

“You can ask: I am not…ACH, Englisch.” Konig grumbled German under his breath. “Aware? Nien…ashamed-Nien, Nien…”

“Self-conscious?” Horangi offered. Konig nodded.

“Ja, self-conscious. Danke.”

“Everyone asks about my stripes when they see them.” Horangi stated questioningly. He had so many false stories for them, it was almost comedic. He didn’t like the truth of the matter, the real cause.

“Unless you want to share, there is no need. Your scars are your own.”

“Hmm. Where did you get those burn marks on your knuckles?” Konig glanced at them.

“It was…a mission in Switzerland? Ja, Switzerland. The helicopter got hit with an RPG, and went down. I had to open the door, but it was on fire and wedged. I got my fingers into the seam and pulled it open. I finished the mission, but it hurt very badly.”

“And the face scar?” Konig turned his head to look at Horangi over his shoulder, a minor scar on his cheek and an even smaller one on the right side of his forehead. “The cheek one: I did not see the little one on your forehead.” Konig chuckled.

“I was young, in school. I was hunting with my mama, and tripped. A rock greeted me.” He gestured to the forehead one. “…ach. Carving? Ja, a wood carving accident. My hand slipped and I was not doing it properly, so the knife cut my face.”

“So you don’t go running and fighting all day, every day.” Konig chuckled, a deep warming sound. He turned off the water and wrapped himself in a towel before turning around to face Horangi who had done the same.

“Nien, not every day. Simply most days. Danke for the help.” Horangi watched the gentle giant walk out.

2022, December 14^th: “Is Konig as dangerous as you imply?” Horangi asked, testing the waters. Klaus looked at him in amusem*nt as Oni sighed deeply. Klaus answered.

“He’s a damn apex, what do you think?”

“I don’t know, what do you think?” Horangi countered. Oni took a steadying breath before he answered calmly,

“I think Konig is a great person to work with. He always completes his mission, and will not hesitate to take care of someone who needs it.” Horangi looked at Klaus.

“Well, I’ve only worked with him 3 times: he doesn’t really do groups unless someone needs to translate or his…skillset is called for. And all 3 times I have, there’s not a damn person who can stop him when he decides to do something.”

“And how does he decide what to do?”

“Graves usually tells him or sometimes he’ll pull a mission out related to terrorists Graves set to the side.” Graves?

“Who is…Graves?”

“Phillip Graves: our boss. Nice guy. Young, but solid as stone. He’s a beta, if that matters to you. Right now, he’s busy, so there’s a new lady we haven’t met yet issuing commands.” Horangi filed that for later.

“So why hasn’t Konig taken command?” Klaus scoffed.

“Are you kidding? He’s like, 60. I heard Graves has been trying to negotiate him to step down from fieldwork for a year now.”

“Negotiate?” Oni nodded.

“No one can stop him if he decides to do something. He joined before any of us except Oz, Mila, and Mace.”

“And no one joined before those 3. Hell, Mace and Mila practically founded the company with Graves. Mila brought Velikan in; Graves brought Konig and Oz. Mace brought in Roze 2 years ago: he’s always been standoffish.” Oni nodded firmly.

“Velikan doesn’t talk, and do not strike up a conversation with Mace: you’re likely to get stabbed.” Horangi noted that information. Interesting.

“So Konig is second in command?”

“Uh, no. That would be Oz. Konig’s not really…on the totem pole.” Oni offered,

“He has more experience than any other, even the most seasoned of us all. We very much respect him. But his position in the company is difficult to place. He has the authority to deny and authorize personal missions for himself, but cannot do the same for others. He also easily takes and attempts to fulfill requests in a timely manner, or assist with missions when possible.”

“He’s kind of like the local grandpa badass: decides what he wants to do, does it, and helps the rest of us out when he can. Authority wise? Not really that high up.”

“What about this Graves?”

“Graves and Konig?” Oni chuckled as Klaus snorted. “Konig’s like a giant puppy around Graves. I don’t know what their deal is, but bet your ass Konig would die for him.”

“Konig is Graves’ lap dog?” Oni and Klaus kind of shrugged.

“While not respectful towards Konig, it is not inaccurate.” Oni mumbled in consideration. Horangi had an idea of who this Konig was now. He glanced up at Konig entering the mess hall, speaking quietly to the kitchen staff as they gave him food.

“So Konig has to be told what to do or is incapable.” Oni and Klaus’ faces fell in horror. Horangi figured he could test Konig’s tolerance. Everyone had a breaking point: he would find Konig’s with not-so-gentle prodding, since gentle probes didn’t seem to faze him, regardless of what they were about. His gender, his gentle nature, even his skill as a sniper: none of it fazed him.

“No. Hell, I would say if anything, Graves keeps Konig somewhat stable, and the other way around is the same. They keep each other okay. You don’t know the half of what they’ve been through.”

“So he’s a dog on a short leash.” Horangi jerked at the heavy hand that slammed into the table, the entire room going dead silent. He looked up at Konig, spine chilling. His gentleness was gone, a stone look in his eyes. Horangi hadn’t hear him approaching, hadn’t been able to smell him over the others, but now it was drowning out the rest.

“Repeat that.” He wasn’t using his apex tone, but it was not a request. There was no room for debate or refusal. Horangi felt his throat swell up as the cedar scent was thick, half-suffocating. He pushed it down, standing up to at least let Konig know he wouldn’t be scared of any apex.

“You are a dog on a short leash.” Konig looked down at him, blue eyes piercing into his own brown ones without hesitating. Horangi yelped as Konig grabbed him by the waist, lifting him with ease and carting him out of the mess hall.

“We are having a chap.”

“It is a ‘chat’!” Horangi hissed as he carted him away without Horangi able to do anything to stop him without actually causing physical harm, which was not the goal here. His eyes widened as he realized Konig took him into the gym, setting him on a

secluded bench and kneeling on one knee to be eye level with him.

“What the f*ck is going on?” He half-snarled. Horangi blinked at him. “You are driving me insane, on purpose. I am this close to losing my sh*t on you because you KEEP PUSHING. What. Do. You. WANT?”

“You’re completely unfazed by anything! What the f*ck do you mean, I’m driving you insane-” Konig drove a fist through the brick wall and locker, shaking the entire wall and punching a hole through the metal locker up to his bicep. Horangi paled.

“If I hurt someone in rage, I will break them. If I break them, I will NEVER be trusted again. People will cower away more than they already do. My ‘unfazed’ nature is a façade, as is your ‘I am unafraid’.”

“It’s not a façade: I am not-”

“If I showed you every way I can kill you right now, you would never be able to look me in the eyes again.” Horangi’s breathing was uneven now, eyes wide. He didn’t look away, though. He was terrified, but he would stand his ground. “I want you to remember every second of this. I control every muscle in my body at all times. I can smell your terror right now: do not lie and say you are not frightened of me. Now. WHY are you pushing me SO close to the edge?”

“…I’m going to leave again, and you’re going to hurt me. It all does. I won’t do it again. I won’t get connected. And you make it so f*ckING HARD! You care, and it HURTS. How can you look at all my scars, all of my secrets and harsh words, and CARE? And if I care, you’re going to get hurt, and that will be even worse, and-” Horangi jerked as Konig gently forced his face he didn’t realize was sinking towards the ground back up to lock eyes.

“I care for you because you are important. I do not care about your words: I have heard them all.” Konig paused, then added, “So long as you do not threaten anyone on base undeservingly or mama.” Horangi nodded at the warning. “I am not going anywhere: they will need an army to take me. I will not stop being here for you and the others, no matter how long you or they glare, and ignore me, or pretend to be something they are not. You do not have to be…unfazed. I know you were. I have seen POWs, how torture affects people of any age, any gender. I know you are in pain, and I can do nothing about that. But you are still here. Still fighting: you are f*cking strong.” Horangi nodded mutely despite the grip on his chin.

“…I’m sorry. I…I don’t want to lose another one who came for me.” Konig nodded.

“I am still going to kiss your ass.” Horangi’s brows raised, Konig’s eyes widening. “Kick, Kick- Fotze, Warum Englisch?!” Horangi lost it, Konig shaking his head with an angry huff after a few more of what Horangi was now certain to be swear words. “KICK your ass. You disrespected me in front of the company, and they will kill you for that.”

“Eo, I got that impression. Oh, sh*t, I left my food in the mess…” Konig shook his head.

“Scheiße, you’re a mess.”

“Correction. I'm your mess.” Konig scoffed lightly. “If I stay with you, I’ll join." Konig nodded.

“I will let Phillip know.” So he called Graves Phillip. Horangi wondered if anyone else did.

2022, December 15^th: Konig woke to find Horangi passed out on the ground in his room. “…Are you awake?”

“No.” He groaned out.

“Ja, Bitte Sie.” He got up and stepped over the unmoving body.

“I can’t move, geoin…”

“Good.” Konig said casually, getting dressed. He hadn’t pushed too far: he’d even cleared it with Vega to make sure the still physically recovering man could handle the strain. Horangi was just exhausted because Konig had not been particularly nice to him. He had still been disrespected by him, after all, and Konig did not care to be disrespected: he was a high rank and military decorum stuck with someone like him. Horangi groaned, forcing himself to sit up as he winced. “Are you hungry?”

“Hungry? I no longer have a stomach.” Horangi complained, rubbing his gut. He had done quite a few crunches…

“Then we can share.” Horangi seemed to frown behind his mask.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“Nien, I ate earlier.”

“…Your mom. Would you tell me about her?” Konig considered this as Horangi struggled up.

“She is 94. Very gentle, kind. I call when I can. She can no longer hunt, but the town takes care of her: I am very grateful. She knits.” Horangi asked, tilting his head,

“Is she an apex, too?” Konig shook his head, body stiffening in preparation.

“Nien, nor was father. They were both omegas.” Horangi looked up at him, blinking as his brown eyes were exposed for once since he hadn’t put on his sunglasses.

“…That had to be…interesting.” Konig scoffed at the genuine confusion (but thankfully nonjudgemental) in Horangi’s voice.

“That is one way to put it. And yours?”

“Eh, normal alpha/omega pairing for Korea. Not much to tell. Did she approve of you joining the military?”

“Approve?” Konig questioned, puzzled. “We did not have a say. Austria requires all alphas and apexes to serve 5 years. I stayed because I want to protect people.” Horangi chuckled as he hobbled along, following Konig.

“Sounds right. Korea has the same requirement for 10.” Konig opened the door to the mess hall and headed to the line as Horangi sat down with a groan. He had gotten the food without an issue, but turned to see none other than Mace talking to Horangi. sh*t. He set the tray down in front of Horangi.

“Can I help you?” Mace looked him over.

“Just letting him know we don’t tolerate disrespect, and he should watch his attitude. The rules are in place for a reason.”

“Ja. Danke: I can take it from here.” Mace nodded.

“Want to go shooting down with Velikan tonight? He’s wanting to see you try to beat your bullseye record.”

“So he is a sniper.” Mace looked down at Horangi, then scoffed.

“No. You ever see a sniper as big as him? Didn’t make the height and stealth requirements. He’s a breacher. Still the best damn shot here besides Zeus, Velikan, and Nikto.” He chuckled to himself. “And I still don’t know if we can count Nikto.”

“He’s ill, not unable.” Konig warned lowly.

“He’s f*cking nuts, not ill. Phillip should’ve just left him in Verdansk-” Konig said flatly,

“I would have gotten him if he had.” Horangi frowned. Konig wondered if Horangi had ever even seen Nikto: he wasn’t a very social person and usually either stayed in his room (even to eat) or went on mission or to the gym to work out late at night, always with company (typically Velikan, Oz, or Konig) whenever outside of his room for safety concerns.

“What’s with this Nikto?”

“He got caught while in deep cover with Zakhaev’s crew for the FSB. Now he’s always mumbling to himself off the field or yelling in it.” Konig sighed.

“He has a mental disorder. Ach…Wassen ich?” Mace finished,

“Acute dissociative disorder. He’s nuts.”

“Nien, I am busy tonight. I cannot go shooting.”

“Alright. Watch yourself, Horangi. None of us are as nice or forgiving as Konig.” Horangi nodded warily as Mace headed out.

“…Are you friends with Nikto?”

“Nien, Nikto doesn’t…accept friendship. The word is tainted thanks to Zakhaev. He is very…isolated by choice. I care for him as best I can. His room is to the left of mine. Yours is to my right.”

“Convenient. So you collect the tortured?” Konig shook his head.

“I-well…not purposely. Phillip thought it would…help him, to have a constant. So long as I am not angry, it does. With you, Vega suggested it.” Horangi nodded vaguely, picking at the food while Konig grabbed a slice of toast from the tray. “Eat as much as you can: you need strength.” Horangi tried: Konig didn’t blame him for having issues. Vega had just recently cleared him to eat to solid foods. He asked after a few bites,

“You call this Graves person Phillip. Does anyone else?”

“Ja, but not many. Mace, Mila, and Oz, who…changes depending. Just the 4 of us as far as I know.”

“And you were one of the first?”

“Ja-how did…” Horangi glanced up at him. Konig dismissed it: Horangi was an intel gatherer. “I joined less than a year from when Shadow Company formed 6 years ago.”

“Interesting. How old is Graves?”

“Eh? Why?” What was that important for? Horangi shrugged. “27.” Horangi hummed lightly.

“And have you met the new boss?” No, but Phillip was practically begging Konig to keep his head controlled no matter what he saw her do. ‘It was temporary.’ Was a repeated plea. Which made him extremely wary about actually meeting this woman. He was still pissed at Phillip over Horangi’s situation, so hadn’t spoken to him yet for fear of shouting at him again, but him consistently warning him she was bad news made his concerns practically double.

“Nien. I heard she will come soon. I’m going to train: Vega wants you to come get checked over again.”

“Will do, geoin.”

“What does that mean?”

“Giant.” Konig nodded, walking off to the gym. He paused at Nikto’s door, knocking.

“Da?” Konig offered,

“Want to train?”

“Sure, that sounds fun to us-me? Me.” Konig waited for him to come out, but led the way to the gym.

2022, December 25^th: “He’s not coming again, is he?” Terri asked Gaz gently. Gaz shrugged.

“Rough year.” Kate was helping Alex bake some sugar cookies while Farah watched, all 3 of them talking excitedly in Arabic. Gaz’s phone rang, and he answered it. “Gaz.”

“Hey, mate. Uh, sorry I couldn’t make it.” That was a lot of noise behind Soap, and he was speaking quietly.

“No worries. You said you were with family.”

“Wish I was with you lot.” He mumbled almost too quietly for Gaz to hear. “Err, is Ghost there?”

“No, he may not come.”

“Well, I, uh, sent some gifts over with Mrs. Laswell. If he don’t make it, could you give him it?”

“I’ll make sure.” Soap started talking in Scottish, a language Gaz was easily confused by, as he hung up. Alex muttered,

“You think Ghost is okay?” Gaz shrugged. Nik offered a soft and very concerned,

“He’s never been gone this long. He hasn’t even read any texts.” Price sighed heavily.

“I know he’s been seeing the doc I set him up with, every week. But nothing else.” Gaz jerked as he heard a bellowed,

“f*ck him!” From the guest room. Price frowned.

“Has anyone else noticed Keegan has been…really on edge since…?” Makarov. Since Verdansk’s stadium got blown up, with who knows how many deaths. Gaz raised a hand, and stood in the hallway quietly to listen.

“I don’t give a sh*t what Elias says, I’m not letting this be. He knows something about where that f*cker is, I know-Don’t you start calling me emotional, damn it!” Keegan sounded more than just emotional: he sounded flat out distressed. Now he just sounded furious. “You don’t get to lecture me on being emotional. You almost got us both killed in that city, Kick. Be pissed all you want. I know I’m being a bitch; I just don’t give a f*ck. One sec. GET THE f*ck AWAY FROM THE DOOR, GAZ!” Gaz quickly withdrew, frowning. He asked casually,

“Hey, T, you know someone named Kick?”

“Kick? Is he okay? He’s like the kid of Keegan’s group. He’s a sweetheart. Knows a little too much about cleaning, though.”

“Yeah, Keegan’s talking to him, that’s all.” Gaz sat next to Price, who naturally started running his thumb over the center of Gaz’s hand. “Your friend’s got a good nose.” Terri chuckled lightly, not picking up on the strain in Gaz’s tone.

“Yeah. He likes spooking me by telling me what perfume I’m wearing. Glad Kick is alright. Keegs mentioned a really bad accident last mission: Kick was put on med leave: I don’t even know if he’s back on field duty.” Keegan came out of the room, Gaz noticing his scent was uneven for the first time he’d ever smelled: rosemary was stronger.

“Sorry about that. Had to make a call. f*cking Kick…”

“Are the boys alright?”

“Yeah. Just some…personal stuff. Kick just got approved for desk duty, so we’ll see.”

“Desk duty?” Terri exclaimed, looking horrified. “How bad was it?”

“Bad.” Keegan muttered, entering the kitchen, and pouring coffee as he evaded bumping into the 3 already there. “His kneecaps got shot and he couldn’t get clear in time.” Oh, sh*t. Keegan’s eyes flashed pure rage. “Those depraved bastards got put down like the dogs they were.” Farah looked at him in alarm, unaware of what happened in Verdansk. She had been occupied with something else in Urzikistan. He noticed her jerk to face him and flashed a smile. “My pack on the other hand is completely harmless. In the ways that matter, at least.” Terri bit her thumb, looking worried.

“Oh, geez, are you sure he’s okay?” Keegan nodded, leaning back on the couch as he closed his eyes.

“Yeah.” Terri seemed to be really freaked out over something pretty normal. Honestly, the fact he was on desk duty only a month after all that was frightening. Keegan set his hand on her leg. “Girlie. Really, he’s fine. Cracking jokes the day it happened. Neptune’s doing something; Elias retired; and Ajax’s on mission with Merrick.” Terri asked worriedly,

“What about Torch, or Grim? You haven’t talked about them in-” Keegan instantly pulled away.

“…Dead. Grim died July last year. Torch was June this year.”

“I’m so sorry.” Kate whispered, looking at him in confused pity. Gaz frowned slightly. What was confusing about someone dying in the line of duty? It happened all the time. Keegan shrugged.

“Not your fault. sh*t happens. I’m, uh…I’m going to turn in. Thanks for hosting me again.”

“No problem.” Terri whispered. Alex called,

“Cookies are in the oven, so want to watch another movie?”

“Sure. What about the Grinch?” Terr asked. Price raised an eyebrow.

“Jim Carey or original, Nik?”

“Jim: I find it funnier.” Nik stated as Kate buried her head into Terri’s neck.

“I didn’t think it was something like that. You think he’s okay?” Alex nodded.

“He’s a navy guy, ain’t he? Trust me, as much as it hurts, he’s fine.”

Chapter 52: 2023, January

Chapter Text

2023, January 22^nd: Konig looked up as gas and leather hit his nose. “Hallo, Horangi.”

“Jal jasseoyo? Our boss is here. She told me to come to her office so she could meet me in person.”

“Hmm.” Konig hummed, Horangi raising a brow. Whenever Valeria was brought up, he seemed to get defensive and on edge.

“What does that mean?” Konig took a deep breath.

“Would you wait a little? I’m almost done with this report, and I...” He frowned, eyeing his mask on the side of the desk. “I would feel better if I came with you.” Horangi rolled his eyes, though noted Konig had evaded answering the question directly.

“I can handle myself, Konig. I know enough about El Sin Nombre: she is out of her depth here, not me.”

“…Ja, okay. But be careful. I…don’t trust her.” Understandable: she was a drug lord and terrorist. No one should trust her in the slightest. Though with how clingy Konig had been since she got here, Horangi was getting concerned he actually knew he was an omega, or was at least suspicious. Horangi had finally adjusted to trusting him: he didn’t want to lose the man over his gender and lying about such a thing. Though he’d have to talk to Vega about getting more heat suppressants: he had 5 pills left. Horangi waved goodbye with a smile and headed towards her office. He got there with no incident, knocking clearly.

“Come in, Horangi.” He opened the door, and was smacked in the face with the scent of copper. She was almost as huge as Konig: another apex. Hispanic, specifically Mexican. Stance showed military training like Rodolfo had demonstrated: Special Forces. Muscular: she was definitely stronger and faster than him. “I’m glad you came alone: I wanted some personal time.” Use of apex tone, eyes were going over him appraisingly. She’d have to try harder to manipulate him: Horangi had completely forced any submissive responses out of his body by the time he joined the army, but it was making him uncomfortable.

“Jal jasseoyo? What did you want to talk about?”

“Your future with the company, little tiger. Oz mentioned you wanted to stay with Konig Kilgore?”

“Eo. He’s a good leader and I work well with his straightforward directions.”

“No, I’d prefer you to be my team member. You have the…right attributes.” Horangi straightened, eyes narrowing. He didn’t like the implications, or the subtle offer of being more than co-workers.

“I’m not interested in you. I will leave if I can’t work under Konig.” She scoffed, standing. He continued looking her in the eyes.

“And go where? You can’t leave here. Korea wants to do with you, and I know your little secret, Eun-ji~” Horangi’s back tensed, but he remained impassive. A year of practiced indifference, and longer of hiding every part of his past.

“Who is that?” She laughed, stepping closer. He didn’t pull back, but was getting more and more nervous.

“Oh, little tiger.” He felt claws nick his lips, and then saw his mask hit the ground. “Those scars are very telling. I worked with the Korean mob. Very interesting people. Impressive how long you have hidden, but I can have you back there in less than a day.”

“My scars aren’t common, but there are many people with similar ones. You’ve mistaken me for someone I am not. I am Kim Hung-Jin, not…whosever name you said.” Valeria was leaning closer.

“It doesn’t matter if you are Eun-Ji or not, the Korean mob will not believe a word out of your mouth.” She suddenly grabbed his face, Horangi digging a claw into her arm as copper filled his nose, his mind quickly losing its steel as he struggled against the crushing force and burning smell flooding his mind. “You are going to be working under me, one way or another, little kitty~” He felt his body start going limp against his will. Blood was pooling down his neck as panic settled in, eyes locked onto hers as he scratched at her arm, her face, anything he could reach as he snarled and growled-the guttural scream put every fiber of his nerves on edge, back rammed into the wall as Valeria yelped. He heard Konig’s voice, some heart shaking tone Horangi had never heard from him before,

“GO!” And he didn’t look back, covering his face as he just bolted. He found his way to Konig’s room, scuttling under the bed as he tried to steady his breathing, calm his heart that was pumping pain into his ears rhythmically.

Konig snarled, bit, scratched with every ounce of strength and fury he’d ever felt. Valeria was digging into his shoulder with every pound of strength she could spare as her eye was bloodied from one of Horangi’s strikes to her face. He heard the snap, but just slashed down onto her face, blood splattering his face as he sank his fangs into her hand. He yelped suddenly as she grabbed as his throat, him chucking her over his shoulder into the wall. “Get this bastard under control!” She snarled into comms, but Konig barely registered it. He had come to drop off the report, the same as he had always done for Phillip, and he saw her forcing Horangi to surrender. It wasn’t respect or fear: it was sheer force and Horangi had been terrified. Vega, Zero and Klaus all arrived, and they were instantly terrified, frozen in place until Valeria snapped, “Restrain him!” Konig gained just enough control not to hurt those three, but he was still trying to kill Valeria. It wasn’t until Mace and Mila both showed up, too, pinning the two limbs down and shouting at him to calm down. He stopped resisting, but his eyes of fury never left Valeria as Vega tried to patch her up with shaking hands. “I’m fine. Get that feral bitch locked up. He will learn not to bark at me.” Konig snapped his jaws at her, face warped in hatred. Klaus whispered,

“What the hell are you doing, fighting the boss?!” Mace snapped as Zero fitted Konig with a muzzle,

“The rules are there for a reason. You can’t just lose control, Konig.” He didn’t fight or reply as he snarled at Valeria until he didn’t see her anymore. He then went limp. Oh, f*ck, now he had to figure out how to explain, without getting Horangi in trouble, or dragging Phillip into it, either. His breathing was harsh but steady. He was chained up, locked into solitary. Valeria came by late at night, smirking at him. He didn’t growl again, but glared back at her.

“I wonder who they will believe more: their boss, or some unhinged bastard child.”

“If you touch anyone else like that.” Konig spoke slowly and lowly, while making direct eye contact. “I will use your spine to pick apples in hell.” Valeria’s smirk faded instantly.

“What part of no one will believe you-” Konig’s eyes were steel, Valeria cut herself off at the glare. “Well, well. I can see why Phil speaks so fondly of you. But he’s not here, amigo. I am. And I say you will stay in this room in the dark, until you learn your place here.” Konig glared at her. “After all, if Horangi won’t listen to me, I’m sure Nikto will.” Konig clenched his teeth and fists. “Or if not them, I’m sure your mother will be convincing.” Every inch of muscle went taunt. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’m not the only one to threaten your mama to convince to do something. Did you not notice the Americans going to your country? Or are you as stupid as you look?” He continued glaring even as his mind ran a mile a minute. What was she implying? Could he trust her implications? Was his mama even safe right now?! “As long as you do what I say when I say, Petra Kilgore may have a sudden visitor.” He continued glaring in silence. “I’ll give you a few days to think it over, princessa.”

2023, January 25^th: Konig looked up at the sudden smell of salt and snow. “Konig?” He straightened as best he could.

“Nikto. Are you…alright?” He could just barely see the helmet of the man through the small opening into more darkness. He wasn’t meant to be outside of his room without company: it was dangerous.

“Da….are you?” He was still muzzled, and hadn’t been fed since getting inside. Vega had managed to convince Valeria to let her treat his shattered shoulder and gashes, though, so it wasn’t awful. He spoke Turkish easily.

“Yes, I’m…I have never met another apex. Evidently, reports that it gets violent were not-” Nikto cut off with an audible scowl,

“You are a terrible liar. It’s just us.”

“…Valeria tried to force Horangi into submission. Is he alright?”

“I-We?-we haven’t seen him since you got locked up.” Konig banged his head on the wall, cursing softly. “Just breathe. We are here. It’ll be alright. The 3 of us and Horangi are stronger than you think.”

“No, it’s not that. I just…I worry because none of you are very good at caring for yourself, and I don’t want to add another person’s safety to your struggles as well. He was one of my responsibilities, not yours.” Nikto gave a stiff nod as Konig sighed heavily as he rested his head against the warm stone. The benefits of being stationed in Texas for the time being. Nikto offered,

“I’ll keep them in line, Colonel, and try to find Horangi.”

“If you do find him, don’t approach. He doesn’t know anything about you and you don’t have a good image around base. I know you don’t care, but that causes newcomers to be pretty wary of you, Nobody.” Nikto gave a stiff nod again with a soft chuckle. Then the cell door opened, and Nikto approached with some water. “Eh? Thank you.”

“To your health.” He replied in Russian, Konig accepting the flimsy help with drinking before Nikto just as suddenly disappeared at a sound, everything returned to its exact original position in a second. It was Vega coming to rewrap his wounds, but Konig was still relieved. Nikto would face severe consequences for coming to visit him if he was seen based on Valeria’s words.

Farah was pacing anxiously. Graves shifted in discomfort. “Err, I suppose I owe ya’ll an explanation?” Alex snapped, finger in the man’s face as anger swelled in his chest,

“Why the hell does Price think you’re DEAD?”

“Well, Soap and Ghost tried to kill me. I just, uh, wasn’t in the tank they blew up.”

“And why did they do that?” Farah snapped, furious.

“It’s a really long story that I will get killed for sharing. Probably by you, but definitely from my boss.”

“Who is?” Graves winced.

“General Herschel Shepard.”

“Oh, sh*t.” Alex breathed. Farah groaned angrily.

“Why did you not bring up the fact your boss is the one who tried to destroy our entire pack?!”

“Because I’m not here to avoid them, I’m here to avoid HIM.” He snapped slightly. “I did something against orders, and I’m waiting out his anger about it.” Alex pressed,

“What did you do?”

“I let one of my guys go after a POW group in China. 10 POWs went in, only one came out. That was originally part of some other deals going down, but they were all resolved, so I didn’t stop him from going after it.”

“And your boss is MAD about that?”

“Right ticked. He should calm down after a few more weeks. I’m sorry I didn’t share, but I don’t plan on dying for protecting my country and the people I can.” Alex sighed.

“Well, you have been providing us with intel and resources.” Farah sighed heavily.

“Yes, he has, and has been more than willing to put his life on the line to assist us. I will overlook it, but your business with my pack should be resolved on your own, not with the ULF. Until it is resolved, you are not getting close to my pack in Urzikstan.”

“That’s a copy, ma’am.” Graves nodded firmly. Alex leaned over to Farah, saying in Arabic,

“Glad we figured it out only a month or so in.” Farah rubbed her head wearily.

“Happy birthday to me.”

Chapter 53: 2023, February

Chapter Text

2023, February 2^nd: Konig headed right to his room for a shower and getting new clothes. He felt filthy, and was exhausted. Valeria had said he had 12 days before he had to go take care of Verdansk’s feral population. That was a suicide mission. He knew that: there were over 600 ferals in 4 different packs. Not even Russia was willing to send a whole task force to take care of them at the source, and Valeria was sending just him. But it was either comply or his mama would be at risk. So now, he had to find Horangi-he froze as soon as the door closed. There was a very, VERY poorly made nest in the corner of his room, shambles formed from his half-destroyed dresser that had been raided of everything even vaguely soft. He could hear weak whines echoing from the center of the nest, gas and leather everywhere in the air. Horangi was in his room, and Nikto was staring at the mound warily. “Nikto?”

“He’s out of heat suppressant. I offered mine, but he’s…” Konig nodded with a sigh.

“Ja, I know. He’s an omega.” Konig sighed heavily. “I can’t get more for him now. I’ll look into it later, but this is…a problem.” Nikto nodded vaguely. “Is there an aid in there?” Nikto shook his head.

“Valeria scrapped all of them. Said it was bad for pack bonding.”

“They are med-she can’t just- Fotze Scheiße.” Konig rubbed his head, looking at the nest in frustration. He wished he could once again use Turkish, but with Horangi unable to speak it and so agitated, it wouldn’t end very well. “Nikto, could I have the room? We can talk after I…handle this somehow.” Nikto shrugged, disappearing into his own room. And Horangi was instantly in Konig’s expecting arms, nuzzling against him with tears pricking in his eyes. “Horangi, how long have you not had a heat?”

“Jusigesseoyo…I’m sorry, please…” Konig pressed his forehead against Horangi’s, trying to ground him.

“Horangi, bitte. How long?”

“E-eight years.” He choked out. “Please, Konig…Let me call you mine, just tonight, PLEASE.” He was pawing at Konig, but Konig felt nothing. He never had. Not even during his own heats: he felt nothing at all.

“I can’t help you directly, but I did hide this.” He pushed the bunk up, revealing a small hole in the wall and pulling out an aide. Horangi sobbed in relief, Konig politely turning around as Horangi took care of himself.

2023, February 12^th: Horangi groaned, feeling warm, comfortable, SAFE. He hummed lightly as he shifted slightly among the scent of burning cedar that was so comforting-his eyes shot open, body tense. Who saw him? Who KNEW? Konig was staring at him. His breathing shook, eyes wide and horrified. He had…he did that IN FRONT of… “I’m-I’m-don’t tell anyone, don’t-” Konig nodded gently.

“I will not.”

“Oh, sh*t, I was-oh-” He vomited a little in his mouth as small scenes played back.

“No need to be embarrassed. Heats are natural for everyone.” He remembered how he had BEGGED Konig to-

“I’m such a whor*-” Konig gripped his arms, forcing Horangi onto his lap with a firm gaze as Horangi tried not to sob, unable to look his friend in the eyes. He’d seen EVERYTHING.

“You are not a whor* nor a slu*t. Heats are natural. You protected yourself while in a state most cannot handle. You are f*cking strong. I did not watch you, either. You had fallen asleep, and I wanted to make sure your fever would go down.”

“How can you…how are you not disgusted by me?” Horangi asked weakly.

“It is not anything gross. Everyone has something similar, regardless of gender.”

“But you aren’t…” He gestured to Konig’s complete blank…everything.

“I have no interest. I’ve never even considered having sex. I’m…” He chuckled lightly. “I’m a brick wall: uninterested in anyone. You did nothing that should be taken as embarrassing. It is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I’m sorry, I should have listened to you about Valeria, you were right, I was being-”

“I’m not going to say I told you so. I’m not cruel. I’m here for my friend. Do you want me to hide that?” Horangi nodded, leaning against Konig’s chest as tears half-fell down his face. “Do you know anything about heats?”

“N-no. It’s a taboo subject.” Konig nodded.

“Then it is past time someone explained it. I know the anatomy of all gender: mama insisted I understand it at the very least.”

“W-what do you do about yours?” Konig tilted his head back.

“I…do not have the need to…breed. I do have…intense mood swings. I become very protective and very hungry: it’s safer for others for me to be locked away during my rut. Do you mind if I ask Nikto in? He knows, too, but won’t tell anyone.”

“…Eo, that’s fine. Just…keep it between the 3 of us?” Konig nodded in acceptance, Horangi shifting to his shoulders easily as Konig knocked on Nikto’s door. The man opened the door warily.

“Valeria asked about Horangi: we said he had a bad flu and didn’t want it to spread through base. Feel better?”

“Eo, a lot better.” He muttered, a slight blush on his face. It had been so long since anyone knew, he felt exposed, venerable, uncertain. Nikto nodded vaguely. “Konig’s going to explain things to me. Want to join?”

“…Okay.” Konig set Horangi on the bed, Nikto wrapping an arm around Horangi’s waist absentmindedly. Horangi looked at him. “What?” He looked down at his arm, blinking oddly. “Right.”

“N-no, it’s fine. Just…wasn’t expecting that.” Konig sat between both of them, pulling up some images with his phone. Nikto easily rewrapped his arm around Konig’s waist instead, Horangi surprised by the display of trust.

“So, this is an omega male, ja?”

2024, February 13^th: Horangi stalked through the halls. He had a mission to get snacks from the mess hall, preferably something with enough sugar to put him into a coma. Nikto and Konig had a sweet tooth that could rival their aims. It was nice, having people to…trust. Sure, Nikto was weird, and distant despite his best efforts and constant company of one of 3 people. But he CARED. Horangi paused, arms fille with snacks, sodas, and some veggie sticks (for himself) when he heard Valeria laughing in the background. He debated about it, then darted towards her voice: he needed to keep an eye on her and her actions. Her voice suddenly dropped into a growl.

“Your king is a pain in my ass.”

“Yeah, Konig’s a special one. He don’t like terrorists: I doubt he views you as anything more.”

“I’m an entrepreneur, not a terrorist. We are quite similar, Senor Graves.” Horangi nodded. So this thick Texan accent on the other side of the phone was Phillip Graves. Graves huffed slightly, almost in shame.

“He’ll still follow orders, so long as they don’t go terrorist.”

“Si, it will be such a regrettable death.” Horangi’s breath hitched. Death?

“What?” Graves barked. Valeria huffed in amusem*nt.

“I’m taking care of a threat, Phil. Be happy.”

“You better keep your hands off him: he’s a pal of mine.” He warned in a solid growl.

“I won’t be the one touching him.” The phone clicked, and Horangi disappeared back to Konig’s room. He slid open and closed the door easily as Konig tapped his ever-present comm link.

“Ja?” Horangi leaned against his head with Nikto on the opposite side to hear, Konig rolling his eyes.

“Are you okay? Where is Valeria sending you?”

“…Ruins north of Verdansk.” Graves swore.

“Say no, Konig. There’s way too many ferals there. You’ll never make it out.”

“Nien.”

“Wha-why not?! You’re going to DIE, Konig!”

“She threatened mien mama.” Horangi’s eyes widened, Nikto’s mask jerking slightly as Graves cursed loudly.

“f*ck! I told him-I f*cking warned him this sh*t was going to happen-I’m going to be back in 3 days, how long until you go there?” Graves sounded frantic, terrified. Told WHO? Konig didn’t reply. “Konig, please, I know you’re pissed at me-I’m not even arguing that you shouldn’t be-but I don’t want you to get hurt, please.” Konig seemed to be arguing with himself, then sighed heavily.

“Tomorrow.”

“f*ck, the situation is…it’s really complicated, Konig, and I can’t explain. Please. I know you can’t trust me anymore-hell, I wouldn’t blame you if you just left after all this sh*t-”

“Nien. You’re a murderer. But so am I. Hands covered in blood, and I still trust them entirely. But once you get back, if I live, you tell me EVERYTHING you can.” Phillip choked.

“I will, as much as I can, it’s the least you deserve after everything. Just hold on, Konig. As soon as I’m back, I’m coming for you. Gotta go.” Konig slumped into the bed. Horangi and Nikto looked at him in silent demand for an explanation.

“…He was involved with terrorist actions under duress. I don’t know the details, but someone ordered him to do horrible things. I want to have faith, but…terrorists. I need to pack.” Nikto swiped half the snacks and they both bolted to Horangi’s room at Konig’s gentle dismissal. Horangi said flatly once the door was closed,

“I’m looking into the files, digging up everything I can on Graves.”

“We’re checking on Konig’s mom with Oz, make sure she’s okay during this.”

“Eo, good idea. And Konig says he doesn’t have a team.” Nikto chuckled behind his helmet as both of them headed off for their tasks. Well, Horangi had another idea if he found the information fast enough.

2024, February 14^th: Horangi grit his teeth as he looked over the files he had downloaded, taken pictures of, tucked away in the corner. The phone rang. “Valeria, I’m f*cking-”

“You motherf*cker.” Graves went silent. “You went after Konig’s mother to make him join? You sold out my team? I’m going to f*cking gut you, Ssibal-saekki.”

“…I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.” He said softly. Horangi scowled as he continued to read the files, Graves making all sorts of comments and excuses. Horangi blatantly ignored him, scowling in fury-

“Charlie?”

“Where’d you hear that?” Graves snapped, all gentleness evaporating. Horangi didn’t reply. Oh, sh*t. 506 deaths, half of those children. Phillip was one of the bystanders, a Charlie Graves was one of the culprits. He’d given his witness statement, and then she (likely either his mother or sister) was arrested. She was on death row right now, under the suggestion of a General Shepard. Horangi’s face blanked under the mask. General Shepard. He had been one of the supervisors of his Chinese undercover operation that got blown. Everything clicked in nicely as he saw that Graves had worked with General Shepard during Las Almas’ strike. “Where the f*ck did you hear that?” Horangi said flatly as Graves’ frantic demand grew louder,

“The general doesn’t care about you.”

“What-” Graves sounded faint, but Horangi pressed on.

“I understand you. In a way, I am you. Maybe if you’d tried a little harder, noticed sooner. They’d still be alive. But they are still dead, no matter how you regret it. If you go into his territory without us again, thinking you can handle it alone, I will make you pay dearly if he does not. From now on, you are with us. I let my emotions take over, and should not have.”

“I-I don’t understand.”

“No need to. Grow some balls and be honest with Konig. The geoin is a golden retriever: if you explain, he will understand. And I will not be explaining it myself.” Graves sighed heavily, saying wearily,

“…He’s going to die, buddy.”

“If he does, so will I.” Horangi smiled slightly as the plane started to land.

“What?”

“You think I was going to let him going into a warzone alone? Never.”

“Damn it. You’re both going to die.”

“Then get here quickly, gwan. Annyeonghi gaseyo.” Horangi had…mixed feelings about ferals. He had gone feral for roughly a month himself: he could understand the terror and fear, the inability to find a safe place and just wanting to give into madness. But it had been nearly 6 years since this pack had been founded: there was no possible way for them to recover their minds now. Killing them was a mercy. So he used his knife to give them that mercy, his guns to put them down. Just like Yuki had been. His mind wandered back to that first period. He had been strong until he saw what they had done to the others. What they were doing to Sumi, feeding her into a wood chipper one limb at a time. And Yuki had shattered. Convinced they wouldn’t hurt anyone if they knew Horangi was the only one who know. And then they had broken Yuki’s limbs, twisting them to be more fit for a dog than a human, all while he begged for mercy, begged for Horangi to tell them with tears in his eyes. Horangi refused. He wouldn’t betray his country, and even if he did say, they were all going to die anyways. And once he told them,

“You want a fight? Try harder,” Yuki had been shot square in the forehead, like Old Yeller. Horangi looked down at the brain matter splattered on the wall from the bullet, and shook his head. They had no hope here. This was a mercy. He found Konig cornered, half-crushed bodies scattered around him like plastic bags. Horangi whistled, pulling down his mask as Konig looked around, absentmindedly shattering a skull against the concrete wall. And Horangi jumped down, teeth sinking into one of their throats as he sprayed bullets. Konig’s eyes widened in horror.

“Horangi?! Was ist du-”

“Shut up and fight, geoin!” Horangi laughed wildly as Konig grabbed his collar, easily placing him on his shoulders, ducking inside an only slightly broken building. Konig heaved a massive chunk of the ceiling in front of the wall-hole, snapped angrily as he set Horangi down gently and speaking rapid German in concern.

“Bist du verrückt? Warum bist du hier? Es ist gefährlich und-” Horangi grabbed his face, forcing Konig to either lift him up or crouch to be eyelevel. Konig continued more softly in English, “You could get very, very hurt- Scheiβe.”

“Where you go, I go. Where I go, you go. We fight together, and we die together. I will not lose another and not join them in death, Eo?” Konig hesitated, but nodded.

“Ja. Ja, okay. Where is Nikto?”

“Checking on your mother with Oz. I have a question for you, Mr. Apex.” Konig looked at him oddly: he had never referred to him directly as an apex before. Horangi pulled out one of his knives and sharpened his claws with it. “I am mostly unaffected by your scent. But Valeria…hers affects me so easily.” Konig nodded, looking along the ceiling for any opening beyond the big hole.

“I spent my life hiding my scent. She spent a Groββe portion of hers using it to establish dominance. She embraced being an apex. I did not.” Horangi frowned at the pain in his tone, but didn’t ask as Konig decided it was safe enough and pulled out a small sewing kit and patching his uniform and hood. “Did your uniform get damage?”

“No, but I chipped a nail. Spent hours on the polish, too.”

“I have nail things in my bag. I can fix it, but I can’t paint it.” Horangi looked at him then laughed.

“That’s why you are named King.” Konig blinked at him. “King of DIY: do it yourself.” He laughed, a deep, warm thing that made Horangi chuckle himself as he shook his head.

“If you say so. Danke. For…coming.”

“Of course. I never met a non-omega who can sew.” Konig paused, looking at Horangi oddly.

“Never? It is common in Austria. I think: mama is a…unique parent. Can you?”

“Eo, I can. Traditionally raised. Cook, clean, sew, knit.” He couldn’t keep the seeping fury out of his tone, making Konig look at him worriedly. “…You were lucky, my friend. Born at the top of the charts. I was born at the bottom. Everything I learned about surviving I learned from experience, watching. Studying.” Konig finished his nails quickly. “…That was not fair to you. You don’t get to pick your gender, after all.”

“…I had rules.” What? Horangi looked at the eyes on the ground man as he tried to start a fire. “Do not look at omegas, they cannot stop themselves from offering. Do not approach alphas, they will not stop themselves from attacking. Do not raise your voice, because it scares them all. If I was scared, I was a coward. If I spoke to others, I was aggressive. Every day, I was terrified someone would use my gender as an excuse to make me leave the military. I was forced to protect mien mama from others, because she supposedly cheated on my father. If I growled while doing so, I was a monster. If I didn’t protect her, I was a failure of an apex. I could do nothing right, because no matter what I do, I am either a coward or a feral monster. My gender is not the blessing people think it is.” Horangi sat against the wall.

“…I’m sorry. I did not know. You…don’t talk about your childhood.”

“The…memories are painful, but neither do you. Did you hate everything about being an omega?”

“Not…everything. I am resilient to cold; I was taught to read body language. The goal was to respond submissively, but I learned what to look for when someone was attacking, when they were lying. I learned how to push just far enough to not get hurt in public. At home, I would hide.” Horangi chuckled at the memory. “It was fun, pissing people off and not letting them make me pay for being disrespectful. Many skills were helpful. Learning to be not seen and not heard. To mask my scent because it was too alpha. Allows me to blend far easier than others can, to evade detection. Any skills of yours?”

“Crafts. Mama insisted I learn. ‘If you can’t express yourself through gender, you will express yourself through art.’” Horangi nodded with a smile. DIY king indeed. Konig took a deep breath. “We survived our childhoods; we will survive this. Get some rest, I will watch first.” Horangi curled up next to Konig, the giant setting a heavy hand on his side easily.

2024, February 15^th: When Konig woke up him, he made breakfast and saw Konig had drawn plans, of the entire north district as Konig slept. When morning broke, Konig woke, and slowly gestured to the buildings. “I got a good look yesterday. Gas may still be present in lower areas, but it was evacuated suddenly.” Horangi grinned.

“Which means there are scattered supplies. DIY for warfare.” Konig nodded.

“I will help you make some, but the mission is still to kill the ferals. If we cannot get all of them before Phillip arrives, that is fine: our safety is priority. But they have suffered enough.”

“I want to destroy Valeria.” Horangi stated as he divvied up the bullets and gear semi-evenly: he knew Konig could carry far more weight than he could, so kept that in mind.

“She will kill you.” Konig stated flatly. They both knew it was accurate.

“Not in person. The most powerful weapon I have is my tongue. It was almost removed 3 times, you know. I can be quite indirect with violence. It’s just not as fun to me.” Konig blinked owlishly.

“3 times?! Sheiβe. Let’s do this.” It was messy. Brutal. But Horangi laughed wildly, feeling his blood rising in the excitement of being able to protect his friend, of being able to move freely and fight as he wished, Konig being as wild and furious as a storm, and everything was fine for the time being. Horangi could concern himself with the rest later, once he had more information.

2024, February 17^th: Horangi winced as he saw the massive wound ripping through Konig’s shoulder. Konig could barely even feel it, frankly. “Can you even-” Use it, move it? It didn’t matter if he should: he had to.

“Ja. You?”

“Eo. Out of bullets, though.” Konig nodded, putting away his own sniper rifle. “Knife?”

“Too dull to cut.” Horangi sighed heavily, leaning against the doorway as ferals clawed and struggled to get in: Konig had seen his own knives get so dull they became a bludgeoning weapon. Konig had such a f*cking migraine at this point. He was tired, barely dragging himself along as he wrapped his arm with some semblance of a bandage using his hood. Stopping the blood was more important than keeping a hood on. Horangi asked weakly,

“How f*cked are we?” Konig considered this question carefully, and said bluntly as he checked over his uniform,

“An axe’s head.” Horangi did a double take. Konig looked back at him. “Wassen?”

“That was…something.” Konig scoffed.

“Englisch is not… my strong pint. 6 languages, none of them Englisch…”

“Eo? Damn, I only know 4.” Konig shrugged. “And it’s point, not pint.”

“Sheiβe, I hate Englisch.” Horangi chuckled lightly. The scratching suddenly ended, and Konig heard his comms go off.

“Konig, where are you? I’m at Verdansk right now, but I can’t see you-one sec, do either of you have a tracker on you?”

“Nein.”

“Then what’s this…Never mind, I see some lights up on the hillside, that you?”

“Ja.” Konig could now hear the heli landing, followed shortly with,

“The helo’s almost out of juice, but they’ll circle back around in 30. At the door now with food and bullets.” Horangi stepped away from the door, opening it as Phillip stood there awkwardly. “Hey, big guy…” Konig closed the door, glancing around. Phillip was already handing out bullets. “Saw there were .45s missing, your rifle, and brought enough to make it out. Uh, didn’t know if you used knives, Horangi, so I didn’t bring any but mine. sh*t, that shoulder looks bad, can I-” Konig pulled away slightly, and Phillip hesitated. “…yeah, that’s understandable. Nikto was freaking out over comms, did you not tell anyone about coming?”

“Of course not, they would tell Valeria.” Horangi dismissed. Konig snapped,

“What?! Oh, he’s going to be sick with worry, he just got used to you!” Horangi shrugged. Konig took a deep breath. Horangi was just as slow to trust as Nikto was: it wasn’t that large of a surprise he hadn’t told anyone. Phillip tapped his comms.

“Klaus-what do you mean, you ain’t coming back?!” He snapped, starting to pace as Konig picked up the food to hand it out-Klöße dumplings with goulash. He glanced at Phillip as he shouted angrily with such a thick accent that Konig could barely understand it. “f*cking-DAMN!” He threw his hands down, pacing anxiously as the misty smell filled the room. “Valeria called the helo to take her back to Mexico. I don’t know when another one’ll be available: the other 4 are being checked for safety standards.” Konig nodded as Phillp gripped his head. “Damn it, I…Konig, are you going to be okay?” Konig didn’t reply. He was too conflicted. Too angry. He didn’t understand why Phillip didn’t tell him about Horangi’s situation. Why he had given Shadow Company-or KorTac, Konig supposed it was called now-over to Valeria? What possessed him to do what he had done in Las Almas? Who was telling him to do such STUPID sh*t?! Horangi offered,

“Why don’t you start talking, gwan? Because there’s a lot of sh*t you need to explain.” Phillip shifted in discomfort, glancing out the window to check on…something.

“I’d rather wait until we’re all safe-” Konig’s eyes hardened, Horangi stating casually resigned,

“We probably won’t live that long. So explain now.” Phillip sat heavily, running his hand over his head.

“I was a marine for 6 months, you know. 6 months, that’s it. Went on one mission into Mexico, because I can speak fluent Spanish and am a hell of a sweet talker. Makes sense, right? Well, it got f*cked by a chainsaw. My commander ended up a traitor, and a guy called Simon Riley and I were the only people to survive out of the 3 teams sent in. And Riley ended up nuts. Crazy as hell. So I pulled out. I was done with the military: settled back into my home town, resolved never to get into that kind of sh*t again. And then…Charlie. My…sister.” He spat it out like poison. The terrorist was his sister. “She got wrapped up in who knows what all, but the simplest explanation is a domestic terrorist group, intent on getting equal rights for betas any means necessary. She blew up a kindergarten. I was there watching a baseball game. I thought I’d talked her out of it, I thought she’d forgotten that damn idea…I hadn’t, and I had to give statement after statement, and I claimed…I claimed she wasn’t my sis. Why would I, 503 people dead because of her. Well, someone caught that little lie, one of the supervisors for my Mexican excursion. And he wanted…some free to use guns. So I started Shadow Company. It was just meant to be an extraction and air support group, to get people out when the official government couldn’t. To stop someone from getting into the sh*t that me and Riley did in Mexico. But he…had other ideas. He could get me executed for lying about a relation to a known domestic terrorist. He could get the shadows wiped off the face of the earth if he made a few calls. If I don’t do what he says, everything I’m trying to protect goes up in smoke and I have hundreds of more innocent people’s deaths on my head.” Konig blinked, processing all of the English slowly. That was a lot of words, a lot of words with a lot of emotion and accent that made it hard to understand even beyond the absolute disgust Konig felt. How could someone manipulate someone else into doing all of that? He gripped his pants tightly, trying not to burst out in rage. Phillip said softly after a significant amount of silence, “Konig? Please say some-anything. Even if you say you never want to see me again, cause I’m a monster, that’s fine, but-just say something-” Konig set a hand on Phillip’s shoulder.

“Who gave the orders?” Phillip’s eyes widened.

“Oh, no. You’ll get killed before you get close-”

“Watch me. He used you, and I’m going to rip his throat out.”

“If you get involved with this, if I let you go in here with me, things won’t ever be the same.”

“And?” Horangi stated flatly, Konig glancing at him. “They made him a weapon. Me a weapon, and you a trigger, then told us to figure out how to be at peace. Things are already f*cked, and we want a target.” Konig asked more gently, realizing Phillip was about to go into a blind panic at the sheer thought of going against this guy,

“Do you need help? Not want, NEED?” He choked slightly as he gave a slight nod. “Then we will provide it.” Konig wrapped Phillip into a hug, the beta tensing and then just going limp. Konig ignored his burning shoulder. “It’s okay. We are here.” Horangi loaded his pistols with a soft hum.

“You do adopt all of the damaged ones.” Konig rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue. How could he, between the 3 he’d taken in? Phillip pulled away with a weak cough.

“Okay, um…but we’ve got to take this slow. He’s a high rank, and dangerous as hell. General Herschel Shepard is his name.” Konig nodded: he’d never heard that name before, but being a general meant he’d been around for a long time and had a lot of authority in the American military. Horangi nodded.

“A lot of authority and a lot of security. If we don’t want to get killed, which would be nice, we’ll have to do a lot of research and quiet investigations.” Phillip nodded.

“Considering you figured it all out somehow, Kim, I’ll leave that to you. Konig?”

“…We stay in contact. I don’t want any of us to be apart anymore, ever. It’s too dangerous. Stay in contact, and stay controlled.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s…that’s a good idea.” Phillip said weakly, sounding stunned. Konig’s comms went off again.

“Hey, you need a pick up?”

“Aksel! Thank f*ck, we definitely could.”

“Be there soon: Oz pulled Klaus from the maintenance to get one of the planes cleared faster. ETA 2 hours.”

“We’ll be here.” Phillip sighed in relief. Konig nodded at his friends as they got their guns ready.

2024, February 18^th: Konig winced as Nikto punched Phillip in the injured arm, Oz waving awkwardly from the side. “We hate you!” Horangi opened his mouth only to get decked as well. “Run off like that again, we’ll gut you, suka! Made us so f*cking worried.” Horangi rubbed his jaw from the ground as Nikto switched to quiet, complaining Russian.

“Sorry?”

“You better be. Next time, if the enemy doesn’t kill you, I will, blad.” He snarled, Horangi blinking up at him in sheer confusion. He then faced Phillip. “You can die later, motherf*cker. Give us targets.” Phillip nodded.

“Glad to see you’re doing alright. Give me a few hours, and I’ll have some targets for you, yup-yup.”

“Copy.” He stalked off, Horangi accepting Phillip’s hand to stand up.

“Is he okay?”

“About as solid as gravel, but he’s good.” Phillip half-explained, Horangi frowning. “Did he say if your ma?”

“If she wasn’t, he would say.” Konig said simply, Horangi taking in the massive wound that was still seeping out blood. “I need sleep.” Horangi and Phillip both grabbed one of his arms.

“You’re going to see Vega, big guy.” Phillip said flatly. Aksel stated,

“Vega’s visiting her father right now, and Zero’s with the new guys for training.”

“Then I’ll patch you up myself, maybe give you some training for it.”

“Danke.” Horangi helped escort the giant to the med bay, Phillip easily opening cabinets to get what he needed as he stated,

“Need you to take that shirt and the tourney off.”

“T-tourney?” Konig echoed, puzzled as he pulled off his shirt without complaint. Horangi casually stated,

“The mask you tied up, I assume.”

“Yeah, that’s what I meant. I just call them tourneys, short for tourniquets.” Konig untied it, scowling at the red stained mask.

“I need a new one, Sheiβe.”

“No worries, I can order you a real mask, not a shirt, you know.”

“No need. Shirts are more…” Konig groaned, talking in German in annoyance. “-too tired for Englisch.”

“Were you looking for the word comfortable?” Horangi offered as Phillip pulled out a needle and suture. Konig nodded, leaning back. “Just relax, geoin.” Konig blacked out quickly, Phillip neatly stitching up his deep arm wound. “Verdict?”

“I ain’t a doc, but at least 3 weeks rest: that was one hell of a wound. And now for you.” Horangi raised an eyebrow. “I know about the stripes, and I know about the face gash. You’ve been through hell, so let me see the scars, and see what I can do.”

“…Fine, ‘boss’.” Horangi pulled off his shirt, revealing the deep scars lining his body and limbs, even down to his hands.

“Ugh, no. Just call me Phillip or Graves. Titles never sat well, my least favorite part of the marines. Damn, you really do survive everything. Should’ve called you bug.” Horangi scoffed.

“Tiger stripes, tiger attitude. They’re long healed, no need to concern over them.”

“I ain’t worried. But scars come with trauma, and trauma comes with pain. And I know what I saw when I was looking for you.” Horangi frowned as Phillip felt along his limbs and neck, then paused on his shoulder, along the broadest stripe.

“What are you doing?”

“f*cking bitch.” Phillip scowled. Horangi looked his eyes reflecting pity, puzzled. He didn’t know why: it was just shrapnel Vega hadn’t managed to get out. Valeria had-Valeria. She didn’t. He gripped the spot as his stomach churned.

“She didn’t. Give me a knife.” Phillip opened his mouth, but Horangi was instantly in a hysterical state. He couldn’t have been-he dug a claw into his shoulder-Phillip grabbed his hand, saying forcibly,

“Don’t do that, Kim.”

“Cut it out.” He choked out. Phillip nodded, going for a scalpel. “I need it out, Graves. NOW.”

“I know, I’m working on it. I need to find the anesthetic-”

“No, CUT IT OUT.” He growled with as much force as he could get behind his throat. Phillip jerked, then sighed.

“This’ll hurt like a bitch, then.” He stayed perfectly still as Phillip carefully carved into the tiger stripe, pulling out the shrapnel. It was a f*cking microchip. She had been watching him. He’d been chipped like a f*cking PET. He felt sick. Phillip set it in his hand as he wrapped the bleeding wound. “Breathe, Kim.”

“Like a f*cking animal. She wants an animal, she’ll get one. Stay out of my way.”

“No. Like Konig said, we stick together. You go after her, so do we. Life is sh*t, and yours has been one of the worst, but we’re coming with. You aren’t alone anymore.” Horangi hugged his knees, stomach churning in fury and disgust. “Besides, you ain’t the only one wanting her dead. We’ll just have to navigate a minefield I made to kill her.”

“I’m a decent navigator.” Phillip chuckled as Horangi closed his eyes, taking a steadying breath and going into planning mode.

Chapter 54: 2023

Chapter Text

2024, March 20^th: Keegan frowned as he picked up the phone. “Keegan.”

“Hey, baby.”

“Mom!” He shot up, asking worriedly, “Are you okay? How’s dad? What’s going on?”

“We’re alright, really. I know we’re not supposed to call you, ever, but…well, it’s been 19 years. Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah. It’s…it’s nice to hear from you guys. I’m sorry I can’t call. I’m sorry I’m…”

“It’s okay. How have things been? Are you eating well? Have you made any friends?”

“Uh, yeah. I can…fill you in.” He spared only the gory details, only the classified information he couldn’t legally share. He talked about the deaths. He whispered how much he missed Torch and Grim, how much he wished Rorke would snap out of whatever conditioning they put him through. How much he wished Neptune didn’t hide how much Rorke’s betrayal hurt him, how Ajax was his mate and how much he loved the man. How he’d met a very nice lady named Terri who was his best friend. And how much he wished he had ANYONE he didn’t have to defend his very proud omega hood to, how he had to prove he could handle things even if he did it differently than others. He also talked about moving in with his pack, and how after he proved himself to most of them, disregarding his boss, he was accepted as another one of the guys. “I’m…doing really well, all things considered.”

“I’m glad, baby. Your dad and I are doing well, too. And like you told us to, we haven’t mentioned to anyone we’re related to you. We only call you Patrick now.” She laughed lightly, if sadly. “Happy birthday, baby.”

“Thanks, mom. I love you. Stay safe.”

“We love you, too, and of course we’ll be safe.”

2024, August 22^nd: Nikolai froze as the scent of lilac smacked him. Almost 2 years with no sign of Ghost: he’d disappeared off the face of the planet except for attending his therapy sessions online, his pack mark disappearing with him, and now he was sitting on the patio, staring out the window in far too rainy weather to be outside, even for a British man. He grabbed a blanket and opened the patio door slightly. “Blue.” Ghost glanced up at him.

“…Hey, pops.” Nikolai wrapped his shoulders in the blanket. “…Sorry.”

“You came back.” Nik dismissed as easily as he could, adding, “May you need another blanket in this weather?” Ghost shrugged. “Then may I sit with you?” He shrugged again, so Nik sat near him but not touching. And he saw Ghost clutching a book of some kind like it was the only thing tethering him to reality, the only solid thing he could feel.

“You…you and dad. You’re my…you’re safe.” Ghost stated in a rush. “You’re safe, and I don’t want that to go away.” Nikolai nodded as his grip tightened on the journal. “I…I can’t come back. If I come back, he’d find you and you wouldn’t be safe, and-”

“Who, Ghost?” He hugged his stomach.

“…Roba.” Roba? Nik didn’t know that name. He’d never even heard of someone called Roba. But the strangled terror in Ghost’s tone told him enough. Nik nodded in understanding. “I…I really miss you guys.” Nik offered a hand, and Ghost took it. His hand was freezing for once, ice cold. Nik just started rubbing his thumb over Ghost’s hand, trying to warm it up gently and give Ghost a backer in his mental battle. After a few hours of silence, Nik asked gently,

“Can you come in, or would you feel better waiting out here for Price?”

“…I’m going to wait.” Nik nodded.

“I’ll make breakfast, Da? Take your time.” Ghost nodded vaguely. Nik stepped in and saw Gaz staring out at Ghost.

“He actually came back. Thought he was dead.” Nik hummed.

“His journey to the living has been…challenging.”

“What’s he holding?” Nik shrugged, looking at the young man in concern. “He likes full breakfast.”

“Da, Spase Bogh.” Gaz knocked on the doorway, Ghost jerking and looking up at him.

“Blue. Thought I’d wake up and find you out here one day. This your favorite spot, then?” Ghost nodded.

“…Sorry for disappearing.” Gaz shrugged.

“You’ve got something going on up there: we’re here for when you’re ready.” Ghost stared off.

“Keep fogging up.” Gaz raised an eyebrow. He really needed to know what that meant. “…I was…feral for ‘bout a year or so? My head doesn’t like that I’m not: when it’s bad, feels like my head is filled with fog and I can’t think.”

“A year? Damn, you are a stubborn asshole.” Ghost chuckled. “And you…left because?”

“…” Ghost shoved the book into Gaz’s hands. “Took this long to write it all down. Don’t…can’t gab on about it.”

“Okay. You want me to read it, then?”

“Up to you. It’s…everything. Mexico, my father, Christmas…” Ghost looked up as he heard,

“I made breakfast, mate.”

“I love you, pepper spray-Ghost?” Gaz tapped the bench next to Ghost, taking the journal and setting it on the table as Price approached Ghost. “Hey, stranger. It’s been a while. What have you been up to? How you been-hell, where have you been?”

“Um…I went to the range.” Price’s eyes narrowed.

“The gun range, for 2 years?”

“Not the gun range. The…officer’s range, in Wales.” Price stared at Ghost in shock. Ghost didn’t look at him. “…helped remind me I’m me, but…f*ck, if it hadn’t been for Mac, I’d been in there…”

“Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, Las Almas was just…a lot. Gaz has the details: Roba, Christmas, my father. I need more time, but…I’ll be there for Christmas this year. Tired of running.” Price gently set a hand on his shoulder. What on earth happened to him in Mexico with Roba was apparently going to get answered very soon.

“Hey, just…keep us updated this time, alright? Want to make sure you’re as solid as can be.”

“Copy. Don’t tell Soap: that’s…too much.”

“Got it. You can say when you’re ready.” Ghost waited for Price to enter the room, settling into the balcony. Nik gave him the food, him nodding in thanks before disappearing into the night with the plate. Gaz raised a brow as Price looked at the journal, taking a steadying breath. “He say how long it took to write?”

“Said he’d been working on it since he left, so 2 years.” Price exhaled slowly, and opened it. It was 5 hours of traumas. Details added to the little they knew of his father’s abuse, details of his brother’s addiction problem and Ghost’s help to get him sober. Then details of his journey through the army, how he’d met Graves in training and they were roughly on equal footing in basic before he went to Mexico. Then the horrors Roba had put him through, the horrors that fell on his family the first Christmas he had come back to them after Mexico. What he had done that Christmas to the ones responsible for his family’s slaughter. How he didn’t know how long he was in the Mexican jungle after killing Roba, how MacMillian had struggled to get him out, to return him to semi-functional status, able to even somewhat control his PTSD and ferality. And why he had grown to trust Price: he was the first to have access to his original file and not look. How in Las Almas, after Graves had betrayed them, Ghost’s mind had lost its constant war and he came to after Soap had nearly died from blood loss: how guilty he felt for not being able to stop that loss of control. Gaz whispered as Price closed the journal,

“Do I cry, or laugh that it all happened to him? That’s just too much.” Nik was staring off, anger and sadness etched into his face. “Nik?” He smiled at Price.

“Everyone who hurt him is dead, but I am still furious.”

“Why don’t we all go for a training run, and see if we can convince Ghost to come back for dinner on next Friday?”

“Sounds good. I’ll invite Soap, too.”

Chapter 55: 2025, New Year's Day

Chapter Text

2025, January 1^st: Konig watched Horangi stumble up to the stage, egged on by Mace and Oz’s laughter. He blinked, mind churning slowly. What were they doing? Oh, Karaoke. Horangi had picked some Korean song Konig had never heard before, then was joined by a slurring and very disorderly Nikto belting out in a literal scream with no tone whatsoever to the tune of, “WITH THEIR TANKS AND THEIR BOMBS AND THEIR BOMBS AND THEIR GUNS, IN YOUR HEAD, IN YOUR HEAD, THEY ARE CRYIN'!” Horangi slurring out with him,

“In your head, in your head, Zombie, zombie, zombie-ie-ie!” At least they were having fun, he supposed. Phillip offered, one of the few sober here,

“You feeling up to Karaoke?”

“Bist du Blöd?” Konig said flatly, downing the rest of his 3^rd pint.

“No clue what that means.” Phillip stated with a grin. Konig frowned. Oh, damn it, English: he was speaking German again. He shook his head: must be getting more drunk than he thought. He gestured to the doorway. “Oh, calling it a night?” He nodded, standing up and waving to Horangi and Nikto. They were too absorbed into their singing to notice, but he didn’t mind-he frowned as Phillip grasped his hand. “You’re wobbling a bit. How many fingers am I holding up?” Konig raised an eyebrow.

“Vier.” Phillip chuckled slightly.

“Need that in English or Spanish, buddy. One of these days I’ll learn German for you.” Konig thought with a frown.

“…Flour? Nein. Four.” Phillip nodded.

“Sober enough. Must just be tired, big guy. Don’t worry about those two: I’m sure Mace and Mila will watch them.” Konig nodded slowly, turning down the hall. “Uh, that’s not the way to your room, you know that right?”

“Ja, ich diens.” Phillip just followed along, talking to fill the air. Konig didn’t mind, but didn’t try to talk back. He opened Phillip’s door, and he froze with a blink.

“Oh, you were taking me to…mine.” Konig watched him as he fidgeted. Ah, he didn’t want to sleep alone but was too embarrassed to say so. He offered a hand, and Phillip took it without complaint, just following to Konig’s own room. “Heh. I always wondered why you never got a roommate, since you’re so neat.” Konig grimaced. He hated the sheer concept of having a permanent person in his space where he could just…relax. The hardest part of being in the military for him was adjusting to that constant lack of quiet, alone space for him to gather his thoughts and composure. Konig gestured to the spare bed/nest (Horangi had to have a lot of help from Nikto who needed a lot of help from Konig, but they managed to build a solid one together, that was just big enough for all 3 of them. Konig made a mental note to rearrange it to fit Phillip, too). “Thanks, big guy.” Konig shrugged, absentmindedly giving Phillip a gentle kiss on the forehead, and settling into his book. He glanced as Phillip settled next to him and laid down on his shoulder. “You comfortable?” Konig nodded, Phillip closing his eyes.

Konig groaned as he heard muffled shouting as something pressed against his lungs. “Eh-EH?” Horangi was on top of his chest, shaking his collar as he called something in Korean. Phillip was awake and brewing coffee with a frantic look in his eyes. “Was ist das?”

“You’re finally awake, we’ve got to get Nikto out of a Russian gulag.” Konig blinked. A Russian…what? “And hide the bodies.”

“WASS?!-W-what bodies?” Horangi offered no context, jumping off his chest and packing as Phillip added in his joking tone,

“There’s no mandatory therapy in a gulag, colonel.” He winced, rubbing his head as he pulled on a shirt. “Why are there 4 mugs in your room?” Horangi stated,

“I swiped another from the mess hall for you: you’re here so often, I thought you could use your own for here.”

“Oh. Uh, thanks.” Konig downed his cup in a second, feeling less out of it now.

“Wait, slow down, what is going on? Where is ashes?” Konig asked, puzzled as Horangi pulled him along to the plane.

“Fire, but close enough.” Phillip corrected. Konig didn’t bother to apologize, too annoyed with the abrupt wakening to bother. “Well, everyone got sh*tfaced last night except me and Oz, including Mace and Mila. Oz was busy, and I was out cold, so …no one was watching Nikto, and he escaped the base.” Konig wheezed, going faster,

“ALONE?!” Phillip nodded.

“And somehow, he got into Russia and tried to assassinate the Prime Minister. Didn’t get him personally, but did successfully get his entire security team…and about 10 cops along the way that haven’t been found yet.”

“Oh, fotze Sheiβe.” Konig groaned faintly. Horangi asked, jumping the barrier to the planes to let them in,

“Uh, why was he after the Prime Minister?”

“Long story.” Phillip sighed. “The shortest version is he is an anarchist when he’s not under supervision.”

“When not under supervision? Why…why only then?”

“Longer story.” Konig stated wearily. “So we’re going to talk to people, or-” Horangi snorted, Phillip looking at Konig in amusem*nt. “Oh, Fotze. How illegal is this going to be?”

“Extremely, geoin!” Konig sighed heavily, rubbing his head. Phillip landed the plane and they stole a truck, Konig scanning the area. they paused periodically to take care of bodies. Despite it being illegal and gruesome, none of them had issues with doing so. “Are we going to tell their family?”

“Yeah, I’ll handle it when we get back to base with this lunatic…”

“If he’s so dangerous, why is he an employee?”

“You ever try saying no to an insane man? Besides, if I didn’t take him in, he’d still be in active duty for the Russian army. He’s stable enough in company to excuse any issues raised.”

“And he doesn’t get mental health treatment there.” Konig finished. “He is much better now than he was when he first joined.”

“Yup-yup.” Horangi raised an eyebrow.

“That is terrifying.” Konig couldn’t begin to tell the journey into and out of the gulag (which was evidently a kind of very brutal prison). Only that they killed about 20 people, Nikto was muttering to himself and giggling at each gunshot, and Phillip made them fly out as fast as he could. Horangi huffed with a grin visible through his mask.

“Well, wasn’t that fun?” Konig turned to face him in horror.

“Nien! Nien, it was not fun, we broke into a prison and killed guards and I am a war criminal now and-”

“Oh, welcome to the club.” Phillip laughed.

“And now we’re going to be in so much trouble with the UN, and-”

“You’re aiming a little high there, geoin.” Horangi laughed. Nikto groaned.

“Stop talking, Da? Voices are shrill and stabbing my ears in a not fun way…”

“There’s a fun way for ears to get stabbed?” Phillip questioned. Horangi offered,

“Piercings?” Nikto groaned painfully, looking exhausted.

“Knitting needles. Heat up and stab. You hear pretty screams from that.” Horangi hummed.

“I prefer clamps on ear arch: tighten it enough and it swells nicely. Very painful: it gets intel easily.”

“Intel? Targets-No targets right now. We’re fine. In company.”

“You…are NOT an interrogation specialist.” Nikto glanced at Horangi, Konig watching warily. Nikto didn’t have a good track record in dealing with interrogation or intelligence gatherers.

“Nyet. I am combat, and he is sniper. He was…was…” He looked down, going quiet. Phillip offered easily,

“Nikto was a deep cover agent.”

“Da, deep cover. He keeps us controlled now.” Horangi nodded. “You are…interrogation specialist?”

“Intelligence gatherer, any means that gets me it faster.” Nikto looked him up and down.

“…We don’t like your kind.” Horangi shrugged.

“We’re teammates.”

“You are means to end. Then nothing.” Horangi chuckled warmly, Konig getting ready to pin them both down until the conversation ended. Just in case.

“Pleasant, aren’t you? A heart scares you and violence doesn’t.”

“Violence does not lie.” Konig set a hand on Nikto’s leg, and another on Horangi’s. Just to keep them from lunging suddenly.

“I don’t use my skills on teammates. Think of me as close combat.” Nikto considered this.

“…Da, we can live with that.” Phillip called,

“Who wants to go for ice cream before we get back on base?” Nikto and Horangi raised their hands, Konig sighing heavily. “Then we’ll go by an ice cream parlor. I know a place that does drive through so you don’t got to worry about your masks.”

“What was song you sang last night?”

“Which one? Before we sang together, or after…”

“I sang?” Nikto asked, puzzled. Damn, he drank a LOT then.

“Eo. Let me-there.” He offered an earpiece to Nikto over Konig’s lap. “We can hear together.”

“Da, we can do that.” They both leaned against the wall, Konig keeping his hands on their legs. Just in case the freakishly fast men decided they couldn’t handle each other after all.

“I sang…’Morning Dew’ and ‘Hot’. Want me to translate?”

“Nyet. I liked the beat, not the words.” Horangi shrugged.

Chapter 56: 2025

Chapter Text

2025, July 15th: Ghost saw how none of them brought up his journal. It was set in the nest room when he finally could come inside. They had re-bonded with him without comment or complaint. And he had decided to move in with Gaz, Nik, and Price. They had just found a decent loft for all of them, considering they couldn’t stay on base as they weren’t military anymore. Alejandro and Rudy had been exceedingly helpful in figuring out how to work as a separate taskforce: evidently, the Los Vaqueros group was very similar to the group they were now calling SpecGru. True to nature, he didn’t work with anyone outside of his pack and Johnny. Gaz did, and seemed to enjoy it. So did Johnny, Price, Farah, and Alex. And while Ghost never went back to Mexico, Johnny did frequently with Gaz and Alex. Alejandro and Rudy were doing well, if ticked off about Valeria still being loose and alive. He opened his phone. “Ghost.”

“LT!” His accent was thicker than usual. “I’m bolting from me house for the day, wanted to ask if you’d be up to getting a pint?”

“If you come to the loft.” He didn’t go to pubs anymore: it never ended well. “Happy birthday.”

“Eh-how’d you know?!” Ghost scoffed.

“Just get here, Johnny. Only one home right now: Price should be here at 5, Gaz in an hour or so.”

“Then I’ll stop by to get a slush. What flavor do you prefer?”

“Hell’s a slush?” Ghost asked, puzzled.

“You’ve never had a slush?! I’ll get all the flavors then, LT.” Soap hung up before he got another word out. Ghost shook his head: guess he was trying something new tonight. He answered his phone on instinct.

“Ghost.”

“Price. Sorry, kid, but there’s been a delay.”

“What kind?” Price sighed with a verbal frown.

“Someone wants to talk. I’ll explain later. You solid?”

“Yeah, Johnny’s coming over, Gaz’ll be here soon.”

“Can you handle both of them?”

“Relax: I can handle it.”

“Alright, keep your head on straight.” Price disconnected as the door burst open. Ghost heard the excited call of,

“Ghost, I’m here!”

“You speed again?”

“Course, I did. Here, try ‘em!” Ghost looked at the colorful crushed ice Soap shoved under his covered nose in puzzlement.

“Those look disgusting, Johnny.” He still took one, maneuvering the straw under his mask and taking a sip-he gagged, quickly removing it from his mouth. “That’s just sugar, MacTavish!”

“Aye, it’s good.” He stated cheerfully as he set the other 3 on the ground between them.

“No.” Ghost sighed flatly, rubbing his head with a sigh.

“More for me, then.” Ghost grabbed the purple one as Soap started downing the red one that he’d given him. “Thought you didn’t like it.” He taunted with a grin. Ghost rolled his eyes.

“Saving one for Gaz.” Soap moved to the blue one. “Going to make yourself sick.”

“I’ve done this before.” He dismissed easily with a purple stain on his grin.

“With 3 of them?” Ghost half-argued as the door opened.

“Blue-Soap.” Soap waved as he gulped down the rest of the blue before crying out,

“Ghost never had a slush before!”

“Never?” Ghost shrugged at Gaz’s glance, handing him the purple one. “It’s been ages myself.” He drank it much slower than Soap was. “Happy birthday.”

“H-how’d you know?!” Soap shouted, pointing a finger at Gaz with wild eyes as his other hand grabbed the brownish one.

“You told us last year.” Gaz scoffed. “Soap, how many have you drunk?”

“That’s the third.” Ghost answered, leaning back. Johnny suddenly yelped, grabbing his head.

“Oh, sh*te, that hurts!” Gaz offered unhelpfully,

“Shouldn’t have drunk them so fast, then.”

“Price was held up by something.” Gaz nodded, and stated,

“Want to make a nest the size of the house?” Soap tensed, looking at the ground.

“…I don’t know how to make a nest.” He mumbled bashfully, shifting.

“Think I do?” Ghost asked, raising an eyebrow. Soap instantly lightened up, and Gaz laughed.

“Alright, everything that is soft goes in a pile here. Blankets, pillows, the lot of it.”

Price looked around the room carefully before sitting across from the new captain. “You know non-military personnel are not supposed to be on base, right?” He nodded anxiously.

“I know, sir, but here’s the situation.” He slid a file across the table. “I’ve got an omega here, close with one of yours.”

“Gary Sanderson. I’ve heard of him once or twice.” Ripper and Nova had worked with him briefly, nothing but positive things or concern over his apparent mutism. “What about him?”

“He’s survived situations he shouldn’t have, and is about to transported to a black site for interrogation.” Price’s eyes narrowed.

“What’s that mean, English from bullsh*t?” The captain shook his head, looking concerned.

“He was exposed to Russian gas: lived with just a week-long cough.” Price’s eyes narrowed further as the scent of acid hit him. This guy was half-impressed and half scared of this Sanderson. “He survived a damn building collapse without even a cut: he was in the basem*nt with no warning. He survived a domestic plane crash over the Atlantic to visit America.” Damn. Price thought Ripper had been exaggerating when she said how lucky Gary was. Evidently not. “He survived a f*cking Russian snatch and grab at border, and they just dropped him off at the base.” WHAT. How the hell did that even HAPPEN? “Either he’s the world’s luckiest bastard, or he knew it was going to happen.” Price sighed heavily.

“Meaning he possibly a spy. Why contact me about him?” The guy rubbed his head, talking a deep inhale.

“He’s not dirty. I trained him: he’s about the sweetest gremlin someone can be, and I use gremlin affectionately there. He’ll break in interrogation: he’s not hardened like the rest of us.” Price’s eyes narrowed. Oh, damn it all, why did he always get wrapped into this kind of bullsh*t?

“You want me to meet him, feel it out.” The guy glanced around nervously. He couldn’t legally say that, after all.

“Whatever you think is best, Price.” Why did he always AGREE to do this sh*te? Alright, he’d see what happened. Ripper and Nova were both as solid a lady he’d ever met beyond Kate, and they both took issue with traitors.

2025, July 16^th: He called Nik on his way towards the file room for more information. “Hey, pepper spray. Do you know anything about a Gary Sanderson?”

“No, I do not. Why?”

“Well, we’re about to pull another ’05 for him. In or-”

“In.” Nik said instantly. “How bad?”

“He’s going to a black site. SAS thinks he’s working for the Russians because he’s the luckiest bastard that I’ve ever heard of.” His phone started ringing, Price jerking a bit as he looked at the caller ID. “Ghost? I’ll be late, looking into his location.”

“I will have transport ready.”

“Thanks, call back after I know more.” He hung up on Nik and answered the phone with a heavy sigh. “Ghost, I’ve got a lot of sh*t to do, and it’s 2 am. Why aren’t you asleep?”

“It’s f*cking romantic.” Ghost whispered. Price paused. Soap, right.

“Okay, we’ll…figure that out once I get back and we get something handled, good work determining: I know that’s hard for you.”

“Yeah…don’t break, dad.”

“Won’t, Ghost.” Price said softly before hanging up and setting to work. He got the details he needed and headed out to the loft, calling Nik. “We got a 24-hour period before they transfer him to the Federation, Brazil. Just sent the details.”

“Da, this is problem. He is on ship. I can get you to Brazil in time, but there is no solid exfil in the city they are landing in.”

“And there’s about a 20 minute window before he’s off the grid permanently.” Price sighed, unlocking the door. “I’ll get the kids ready, you good to go?”

“Fueled and ready, but the distance will cut gas levels close.”

“We’ll keep it tight, then. Boys-” Price blinked at pillows, blankets, and everything that could even be considered slightly soft spread over the entire house floor, talking in Spanish with a few chuckles. “Boys?”

“Cap!” Came the happy call, Ghost waving from the living room. Gaz raised an eyebrow as Soap looked extremely sheepish.

“…Trying to make a nest?”

“Aye. Turns out, none of us are very good at it.”

“They called me, sir: Rodolfo Parra at your service.”

“Rudy, I remember you. Nice to hear you, but I’m afraid I’ve got to cut this nest building training short. We’ve got a situation.”

“Call back when it’s addressed, Alejandro and I have a few questions for you, Captain Price.”

“Will do.” Price said casually: Ghost was already gone to get everyone’s stuff together. Gaz raised an eyebrow as his phone disconnected. “We’ve got an HVT, named Gary Sanderson. He’s worked with Nova and Ripper before, and they both vouched for him with his commander, but SAS thinks he’s working with Russians because of his luck, so we’re up. New trainer got me up to date, and his file is tight.” Soap echoed as he got up, Ghost silently handing him his pack,

“LUCK? They don’t-what?”

“He’s survived the impossible, even by military standards. He should be dead, Soap. Ghost, we’re overwatch, but these blokes are still friendlies: no lethal shots.” Ghost nodded in understanding. “Soap, get a med kit. Gaz, he can’t speak as far as I know, so you’ll have to translate if he uses BSL.”

“Gaz knows sign?” Ghost and Soap echoed. Gaz raised an eyebrow.

“One of my birth pack members is deaf: we all learned.” They were out the door in 2 minutes, with Nik in 18.

2025, July 17^th: “Golf team, sit-rep?” He looked around as he drove, Ghost’s typical skull mask switched for a solid black one (less obvious), Price and Soap in a separate vehicle as Nik waited for exfil, both watching each other.

“Plates are a match to intel. Means he’s in the car ahead.”

“Any sign of him?” Ghost glanced at Gaz.

“Negative. File says he smells like mushrooms: blends in.” Ghost added,

“They’ve stopped twice for gas and food: no sign.” The trucks pulled over. “Standby…That him?” Gaz nodded: he’d recognized the man from the picture he’d been shown with ease. “Positive ID-they made us!” Gaz stepped on the gas, whirling around the corner as he hoped the bullets wouldn’t hit him.

“Get on foot. Eyes on!”

“Solid copy.” Gaz leaned against the garage siding, as if he was waiting for someone, Ghost missing. “Ghost?” He whispered into comms, raising his phone to his ear.

“Copy. Eyes on: they’re trading vehicles.”

“Same: which one’s Gary?” Price asked, Gaz just making out the glint of binoculars from the rooftop.

“Jittery kid, dead center.” Gaz said softly, watching the 3 alphas warily as they seemed to be interrogating him already. He kept bearing his neck, then jerking away, fighting his instincts in a badly losing battle. “On you, cap.”

“Soap, distract ‘em.” Gaz couldn’t ignore the excitement in Soap’s tone as he said,

“Aye, sir.” Gaz jerked as a bomb went off under one of their cars, phone in his pocket as Gary scrambled away as the 3 guys started searching for their nonexistent target: Soap was long gone. Gary hid under a different car, mushroom scent strong but muddling with the rest of Brazil. Gaz used a signal light as Ghost started dead firing (using blanks to make gun sounds, but no actual bullets getting shot) to get Gary to look over at him. He winced as it hit his eyes repeatedly, but finally looked over, looking puzzled. Gaz signed, ‘Nova’ and the relief on his face made Gaz smile. He gestured him to get closer, and Gary was there, trembling as he gestured,

‘What’s going on?’

“Getting you out.” He nodded, Gaz gesturing him to follow. “Pops?”

“Ghost, talk to me!” Ghost wasn’t near them now: Gaz had no idea where he was, other than he was sniping and the 3 guys were less than pleased about Gary not being there, and even more upset about getting ‘shot’ at.

“Trying to pin us down: keep moving, don’t double back. Price?”

“I’ve got no visual on you, cut through the houses.” Soap swore suddenly as Gaz handed Gary a spare comm.

“Gaz, they got the f*cking militia on you!” Gaz snapped,

“Pops, exfil!”

“There is militia here?” Ghost growled just as Gary managed to get it in his ear,

“Skies are clear: pin it down and crack the neck!” Price translated, Gaz waving Gary’s sudden concern off,

“Find a spot and we’ll get there, Nik.”

“Clear at market, but-”

“We’ll be there in a tic.” Price barked. It was messy, Gaz just trying to get an unarmed Gary some kind of sense of security-Gary was completely straight faced, like they were watching a movie. He stabbed someone in the face with a piece of ripped metal siding coming out of their house, then stole their AK, nodding. Gaz just accepted it: anyone that Ripper liked had to be a badass.

“Market is no-go, too heavy. Second LZ at end of rooftop!” Gaz made the jump, destabilizing the metal shingles. Gary slid right off, Gaz trying to catch him-he hit the ground, Soap dragging Gaz onto the chopper as he shouted into comms.

“Gary! GARY! WAKE UP!” Soap shouted into comms, getting an irritated tongue buzz in response. “Danger close, mate, dozens: get the f*ck out of there and on the roofs!” A tongue clicked, and Gaz saw Gary scuttling along the ground, through buildings up to the roof. Gaz took over as he popped out of the roof access, scurrying along.

“Gary, we see you: meet us south of position. RUN.”

“We have 30 seconds before there is no heli!” Nikolai snapped. “We’re running on fumes.” They got to a cliff, and Gary came barreling out. “Jump!” He did, barely latching onto the ladder, Soap and Ghost dragging it up with him attached. He shook his head, breathing heavily. Price chuckled.

“Damn lucky indeed. Regular Captain Jack Sparrow motherf*cker.” Gary smiled, nodding.

“You survive everything, don’t you?” Gary gave a so-so hand motion to Ghost’s almost impressed mutter. Gaz gestured to them all, saying calmly as Nikolai got them out of there,

“Gary, this is Captain Price, Nikolai, Ghost, and Soap. Pack, this is Gary.”

“More like Roach, how he moved.” Nikolai muttered. Gary laughed, signing,

‘Roach sounds fun!’

“Like that, huh?” He looked at Price in surprise. “What? I know BSL.” Ghost nodded.

“Same.” Soap gestured to all of them in annoyance.

“Been trying to learn for years, arseholes!” Ghost shrugged.

“Never said.” Soap pointed to Gaz, scowling as he smiled. “That’s why he’s Gaz, Soap.” Soap teased, Gaz rubbing his head,

“You like being called Roach?” Gary nodded. “Welp, that’s you now. You’re Roach. No take backs.” Gary laughed again, beaming. “And now, we all have to learn BSL.” Price chuckled lightly,

“Actually, Soap, I think you and Nik are the only ones who don’t know BSL.” Soap swore angrily. “But first, what do you even want to do? Because now you’re a war criminal.” He gestured around. “So are we.”

‘What else? Want to join.’

“Alright. Welcome to SpecGru.”

“Nice.” Soap laughed.

“Now, we all have to learn BSL. I’m fine with this.” Soap exclaimed,

“Gaz and Ghost get to teach me!”

“No complaints here.” Ghost muttered. Damn, he was down BAD.

2025, July 18^th: “That’s how we have a new flat mate.” Price sighed heavily. Alejandro chuckled.

“It happens, Captain.” Rudy gave a hum of agreement.

“So, what were your questions?”

“We heard you have pack mates in the middle east. How does that work?”

“We either fly there or get them here to remark, lots of calls and contact.”

“And…Ghost is part of your pack?”

“Him and Gaz were the first ones. Why?” Price was confused as to why they were asking about details regarding his pack.

“We are…asking about your pack because…well, Los Vaqueros could use more allies, and I’m rather fond of your packmates-”

“Ale.” Rudy warned, stating easily, “We are wondering if your pack has room for 2 more long distance members.”

“Oh. I’d have to talk with Nik before saying either way. We’ve always agreed on who joins, and I’d like to make sure he’s okay with you lot before agreeing.” Alejandro chuckled warmly.

“Understandable. Rudy and I have had many debates ourselves on this. Thank you for considering.” Price nodded vaguely before hanging up. He called through the house,

“Soap, Gaz, how often do you end up in Las Almas?”

“At least once a month on missions.” Soap answered easily, looking at Price with a frown.

“Didn’t realize it was that often…Nik, can we talk about something?” Soap was up to his feet.

“A-actually, I wanted to ask something meself.” Ghost looked at him with a puzzled look, Gaz peering at the now neat stack of blankets as he tried to form a plan to make the nest more properly. Price raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, MacTavish?”

“…Can I join your pack?” Ghost’s eyes widened, Gaz looking impressed as Price bluescreened for a second. “I-I mean, it’s fine if I can’t, but-” Price set his hand on Soap’s shoulder, and one on his hip. His hand immediately retracted from his hip when Soap stiffened, moving to his shoulder.

“Are you sure about this? I know you make sudden decisions, and I just need to make sure you know what you’re asking to join.”

“Aye, I know. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, it’s just…yeah. I’d…I’d like to join.”

“Alright. Nik and I already said if you asked, you joined. Let me and Nik talk, and you boys can sort that all out, aye?”

“Aye, cap.” He entered their room as Gaz whistled.

“How long?”

“Start of 2023.” Soap sighed dejectedly, braced for teasing. Then none came towards him.

“He’s got you beat.” Gaz taunted Ghost.

“Shut it.” Ghost grumbled, shaking his head. Gaz elaborated,

“Took him 2 years.”

“It’s a 6-month difference, that’s all.” Soap stated with a puzzled frown.

“It’s enough.” Gaz maintained easily. “Now, anything you need to know about them?”

“No.” Soap knew he replied too quickly, too readily. He hoped the interrogation guy didn’t think anything of it, or at least ask.

“Then who do you want to go first for the bite? Ghost does it HARD.” Ghost grumbled quietly,

“You were the first I’d ever done.” Soap hesitated, and said,

“P-probably Gaz. Um, no offense, Ghost, but I don’t have much pain tolerance. A-and…could I bite first?” Ghost’s eyes sharpened slightly, Gaz nodding easily.

“Just hold his hand.” Ghost rolled his eyes.

“f*cker.” Soap took Gaz’s hand gently, hesitating slightly. It was fine. This was FINE. He then bit down; Gaz unflinching.

“Holy sh*t, that’s the softest bite I’ve ever felt.”

“Did it take?” Gaz nodded, rubbing his neck to sooth the red spot.

“Can feel it. You’re stressed as hell, aren’t you?” Soap chuckled once, rubbing his shoulder.

“A-a bit. Never…wanted to do this before.” Gaz gestured to him, and Soap closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. He barely felt it, other than a swarm of comfort filling his head. “…Thanks. Ghost?” Ghost nodded, pulling up his mask enough to expose his neck. Soap hovered a bit, then bit down on him, grasping his hand tightly.

“Damn. You are a gentle one.” Ghost sounded so…impressed by the observation. Soap took an even deeper breath, grip on Ghost’s hand as tight as he could make it-he yelped in pain as Ghost’s teeth sank in.

“STEAMING JESUS, SIMON!” His jaw tightened for a second, then released. Gaz’s eyes were wide.

“You…call him that?”

“Aye, sometimes.” Soap whined, rubbing his neck to try and ease the pain as blood dripped down his neck. Gaz looked at Ghost, Ghost giving a blank stare back. “sh*te, that hurt…” Ghost leaned over and gave a gentle kiss on the wounded neck.

“I’ll patch you up once pops and dad are done.” Soap headed into the restroom to wash off the majority of the blood, Gaz looking at Ghost in shock.

“Like Soap that much?”

“Tell him, get stabbed.” His voice was bland, but Gaz knew better than to think he wouldn’t follow through with that threat.

Chapter 57: 2026, February

Chapter Text

2026, February 7th: “And I should not be on field?” Horangi chuckled as he approached the gate.

“No, big guy. They don’t really get along with alphas, and gwan said they especially don’t like apexes because of that bitch. Nikto, you clear?” Phillip couldn’t be here and address something that popped up in the Federation, though he was on comms.

“Have eyes on you: meet up after you talk with command.” Horangi gave a wave, then waved up at the watch tower.

“…Horangi?” Came the very confused and uncertain call.

“EO! It’s been a while, surprised you recall me. May I come in?” The guard disappeared, and Horangi waited. The gate opened, and he was looking down at a just as puzzled Rodolfo.

“I heard you were dead.”

“I got better.” He nodded, gesturing him to come in.

“What brings you back to visit Los Vaqueros?”

“Well, I heard you had a problem with someone, and I changed careers a bit, so thought I might be able to help.”

“Changed…what do you do now?”

“Paramilitary intelligence and HVT handling.”

“And what do you think you can help with?” Rodolfo asked warily. He seemed far more confident than last time. Good for him.

“You prefer bluntness?” He nodded, glancing around. “I am here to stop Valeria. I’m not military anymore, and you could say I have a…vested interest in her being addressed.” He could still feel the tracker she’d put in his shoulder, smell her. Even knowing her death wouldn’t ease the reminder, it would be cathartic. Rodolfo looked at him in surprise, then narrowed eyes.

“I didn’t know you had contacts here.”

“I don’t. I know almost nothing about your brigade’s involvement beyond that of what was on the news. But I do know about Sin Ombre being involved in Korea and the Federation’s drug trade, her involvement with terrorists, and different actions that happened because of her influence.” Rodolfo nodded slightly, knocking on a door.

“Si?” He opened the door, speaking rapid Spanish to Alejandro, who stared at Horangi in unhidden shock. “…Where is your team?” Horangi’s face blanked, Konig saying over comms softly,

“Horangi-”

“Dead. We were captured due to an information leak I tracked down to North America. I believe Valeria had to do with it.”

“Lo siento. That is sad news.” Horangi shrugged.

“I have a new team now. I may be a lower rank, but they trust me. I remembered you weren’t fond of alphas, so asked them to let me talk to you both alone, since you’d already met me.” Alejandro stated,

“Still pretending to be an alpha, then?” Horangi snapped, anger flashing,

“Ggeo-jyeo. I am an alpha.” Alejandro blinked at him, then shrugged.

“As you say. Shall we meet them outside of base, then? Discuss as a group: it’s not good to have a middle man when taking down a drug cartel.” Horangi chuckled as the 3 of them headed out.

“I’m not here for the cartel. I’m here for Valeria: the cartel is your business. I’ll help if I can, but it’s not my mission. Nikto?”

“Coming down.” Came the soft growl Horangi had grown used to.

“There.” Was Konig’s answer.

“Nikto?” Alejandro echoed.

“He’s Russian. I will warn you: both of my teammates are…acquired tastes, very unique. Good at what they do, though.”

“If they can help us take down Valeria, I don’t care how abrasive they are.” Alejandro scowled. Horangi wondered if that would stay the case after he met them…

Alejandro had a million questions, and no idea how to ask them. Where had Horangi been for the last 5 years? What led him to believe Valeria was involved with his team’s deaths? Who were these teammates of his? How had he survived if his entire, former team did not? Why did he come back to address Valeria himself? Rudy seemed more relaxed until they left the base, Horangi gesturing to the forest. “Like I said, my team can leave an impression, and I did not want to cause a scene. My colonel is over there: he’s a big guy. And Nikto is…well, Nikto. He’ll either be there or join shortly.” Alejandro led the way. He understood ‘big’. He himself was big. Size didn’t intimidate him-he smelled cedar, and stopped instantly as a hulking figure appeared, wearing a sniper hood, and towering over him as if he was still a child. Alejandro threw back his shoulders, looking up at the giant as his hands grasped his firearm. That was not a ‘big’ man. That was an apex with clear blue eyes that shined in the light and evaded direct eye contact. His mind bristled at the thought of an apex being so close to his base, where his vulnerable soldiers were unaware. But at the same time, he had been considerate and waited OUTSIDE of the base, and the logical part of his mind said that generalizing apexes because of Valeria was no better than what happened to his cowboys. Even so, he grabbed Rudy’s hand as he let out a frightened squeak at the giant man.

“…Hallo.” His voice was not a match. He spoke timidly, gently, voice too high to belong to such a body. He waved. “I am Konig, former Colonel of the Austrian Army.” Former. He must have joined the same PMC that Horangi had. He felt something staring at him, and looked down from Konig’s face-blue on a black canvas. Every inch of skin of the man 2 centimeters taller than him was covered in tactical gear, complete with a solid black helmet with only eye holes that revealed icy blue orbs that seemed to burn in the darkness while chilling Alejandro’s chest. Alejandro smelled something cold and salty coming from him: his scent felt unnatural, strain spiking instantly as the man continued to stare dead at him, not even glancing at Rudy. “Ah, this is Nikto. He, uh, is not very…friendly.” Nikto was staring through him with those heartless eyes. Alejandro pushed it aside: he had work to do.

“Colonel Alejandro Vargas at your service. This is Rodolfo Parra, or Rudy, my second in command.” Konig nodded to both of them. “Can any of you speak Spanish?” Konig glanced at Nikto, who was still staring at Alejandro.

“Uh, Nien.” NINE? What the hell did that mean? Horangi said easily,

“No, I haven’t learned it, and Konig cannot speak it: English is also not one of his stronger languages. Nikto-”

“Cannot speak for now.” Konig cut off. What did THAT mean?!

“Eo, okay. So I will be talking to you for the most part.”

“…Si, alright. And you all are okay with addressing Valeria, I take it?” Konig’s eyes hardened into stone.

“She is a terrorist.” Was the flat statement devoid of feeling. Nikto did not reply, still staring into Alejandro’s soul. His discomfort at the silent man was growing, because his gaze wasn’t ‘evaluating’, but predatory, as if he was determining exactly how to bleed him dry, isolate him and butcher him. Alejandro wasn’t used to being unable to read someone, even with a mask or helmet. Ghost had been frightened, that was easy to understand. Soap had been on edge beyond explanation and slowly relaxed. Konig was anxious, but ANGRY: he didn’t have to see the man’s face to read that in his truthful blues. Horangi was harder, but he was just as eager to stop Valeria as Alejandro himself: the reason alluded him, but it was far more than being merely ‘she is problematic’, that was clear. But this Nikto had nothing behind those eyes but emptiness. No motive, no thoughts, nothing but the promise of violence and pain. Alejandro shook it off as best he could, surprised the rather blank alpha was alarming him more than the f*ckING APEX right next to him. Hopefully Rudy could read these people better than he could.

“Si, si. Our intelligence has been increased, but Valeria is a clever one. She’s covered her tracks well, and we now only know one of her lieutenant’s locations: I have 2 men inside trying to locate her safe area.”

“Where is this location?” Horangi asked, Rudy answering as Alejandro felt the salty cold shift slightly. “Hmm.”

“And while the lieutenant is not very bright, he, along with all of her underlings, are carefully guarded after certain events.”

“Eo, Las Almas. I have heard of the situation. It was tragic, my friend.” Alejandro nodded, gritting his teeth as Rudy squeezed his hand in sudden terror, whispering in Spanish,

“Where did the specter go?” Alejandro got hit with the absence of icy salt as soon as Rudy brought notice to it.

“Where is Nikto?” Konig shrugged, Horangi dismissing far too easily,

“He won’t go on base: he’s not fond of people in general.” Did they NOT KNOW where that man went??? “So we know where one of her workers is. Anything else?” Alejandro spoke with Horangi easily over the details they knew as fact, Rudy growing more uneasy as time progressed. He didn’t like how Konig was staring at him. He didn’t like how all he could smell now was cedar. And he didn’t like how even with Alejandro holding his hand tightly, Konig continued to watch him. Alejandro snapped,

“Why are you looking at Rudy like that?” Konig jerked slightly, looking away instantly.

“Bitte Sie, I meant no hurt-harm. Meant no harm.” Konig’s eyes widened abruptly, his entire body tensing. “Arschgefickter Hurensohn! Nikto’s alone.” Horangi looked up at the giant, staring for a bit.

“Oh, sh*t.”

“I’ll be back, Bitte Sie.” He also disappeared, but Horangi continued discussing the information easily, Rudy relaxing with the apex not staring at him. He didn’t think it was meant to be hostile: his eyes had seemed concerned: the man likely picked up on how stressed Rudy was at the sight of him and didn’t know how to help. Alejandro asked,

“Why did your teammates vanish in the middle of a discussion?”

“Nikto has a specific method of addressing things, and Konig wants to make sure he doesn’t go overboard as much as he tends to. Not to worry, they’ll be back in no time. I think. So if the location is here, and her previous bases have been located here, here, and here…” Rudy watched Horangi compare notes and the map carefully, asking, “What is this building?”

“That is a defunct mental hospital. It’s used to retain prisoners now. That is where she escaped from.” As did Rudy and Alejandro that same year, though they had been unlawfully detained while Valeria was rightfully imprisoned there.

“Hmm. How likely is it that she’s still there or nearby?” Rudy shook his head with a frown.

“Possibly near, but she won’t be inside that building. We are often in and out of it, and would have noticed her.” It started getting dark as they continued discussing likely locales, her tendencies (Rudy noticed he didn’t ask as many questions about that category, increasing his suspicions this wasn’t mere professional vendetta) and any additional members of her ranks they knew of. When it got too dark to point along the map, Alejandro offered,

“Would you care to come in, and continue discussing?”

“Eo, that’s a good idea, but one second. Konig, where are you?” His body tensed briefly as he mumbled something in Korean. “Alright, be careful and don’t get shot. Eo.” Rudy raised an eyebrow. “Konig is with Nikto now: they’re working on something. They’ll be back in the morning with some information.”

2026, February 8^th: Konig grabbed Nikto’s scruff before he could drive the knife into the lieutenant’s chest, snapping in Turkish, “We need him alive to get information.” Nikto hissed back in the same, dangling from Konig’s grasp but not fighting him (thank goodness, because Konig was exhausted from trying to track and chase him down).

“You gave me a target: I found the target!”

“You did very well, Nikto, but you can’t kill him yet.”

“Yet?” Konig nodded at the hopeful tone, Nikto relaxing slightly at the prospect of EVENTUALLY killing the man.

“Once we have the information we need to take care of Valeria, you can kill him away from the Hispanics.” Konig briefly wondered when he became so lackadaisical about murder. Probably when it started involving killing terrorists and protecting his friends, he dismissed. “Remember, away from the Hispanics. Our position with them is tentative at best, and it is best to not push extremely far in order to retain that tentative alliance.”

“Copy. We kill him after, then.” Nikto soothed himself as Konig slung the unconscious (and rather bloody) body over his shoulder. “And we go back to the base now.” Konig nodded, looking over the maze of bodies they had left in the former cartel safehouse. This would be…messy. And he was positive they were definitely on some sort of watchlist by now for war crimes, if the UN ever connected them to the situation…they trekked back easily enough, Konig pausing briefly to bind the man before tapping his comms with a low sigh, grabbing Nikto’s shoulder as he went to keep moving.

“Horangi, we have the target.”

“Damn, that was fast. I’ll let them know: we’ll meet you in the forest again.”

“Ja, be careful.” Konig set the body down as he started to stir, offering Nikto a piece of cinnamon gum. He took it and carefully got it into his mouth through his eyehole. Konig was always impressed by that…

“What information could they have gotten in less than 24 hours?” Came Alejandro’s questioning demand. Konig glanced up at him from a crouched position, making sure the ropes were tight. Nikto instantly was back to staring at Alejandro in dead silence, Konig careful to just glance at the shocked Rudy. “You kidnapped her lieutenant?! Dios Mio, what the f*ck.”

“We took their safe house.” Konig stated flatly. “She won’t find out: Nikto…camera-looped? Ach.” Horangi finished explaining,

“Nitko is good at covering his tracks: she won’t notice anything strange about cameras or radio activity for at least a day, maybe a week if she doesn’t show up in person. Eo?” Nikto stiffly nodded. “Good. Now, I know you have problems with my methods-” Alejandro cut off with a growl,

“No. Valeria needs to be put away forever. As long as civilians don’t get hurt, weapons free.” Horangi gave a barking laugh.

“You think we’re sloppy enough to involve civilians? You have a poor opinion, indeed. Excuse me.” Horangi took the man deeper into the woods, Konig anchoring Nikto to his side with a heavy hand as he went to follow.

Rudy didn’t recognize that language: it definitely wasn’t the one he had spoken earlier. Nikto seemed to understand it, though, nodding stiffly before his eyes went vacant, hollow. Konig’s grip tightened slightly, him looking up. Alejandro asked, “How is Las Almas treating you?” He locked eyes briefly, then looked down just as quickly as soon as Alejandro straightened.

“Eh?” The question echoed in his mind for a second. “It is hot.” Alejandro chuckled once, on edge.

“Si, it is. You…are not used to such?” Konig shook his head.

“Austria is cold.”

“Where is your base?”

“Texas for now.” So he moved around a lot with this group. Rudy still hadn’t heard the actual group these people worked for. Konig only replied in clipped sentences, but was honest. Nikto was a blank slate: Rudy wouldn’t be surprised if the Russian didn’t even know what he was feeling at any point. And Horangi wasn’t much better. He’d been difficult to read before, but now? Rudy couldn’t make out anything. Interrogation specialists were tricky for a variety of reasons. Alejandro kept attempting small talk for a bit, Konig continuing to give short answers for several minutes. He was unreactive to any question posed.

“Do you like working as a mercenary?”

“J-Yes.” Konig corrected, looking around.

“Why?” Ah, changing the format to force a full reply. Rudy had taught him well. Konig looked at him, eyes locked on instantly as Alejandro stiffened as Konig tilted his head, blue eyes burning.

“I protect people. Quiet now: Englisch is tiring.” Alejandro’s eyes narrowed- he added, “Bitte.” Bid a what? He continued staring for a few seconds, then translated, “Please.” before he looked away. Rudy considered this. He used eye contact in an unusual way: most people used prolonged contact as a challenge, but he was communicating he was finished with a discussion, or investigating a person’s trustworthiness. Likely because he already knew he was naturally the dominate one here. Rudy flinched as he heard a scream from the woods, Nikto finally shifting and staring towards the origin as Konig kept a hand on his shoulder.

“What is he doing?” Nikto jerked slightly, but Konig didn’t let him move from his side. Rudy whispered in Spanish,

“Ale, you do not want to know for plausible deniability. We are still part of the army, even if we don’t have the support that we need to fix things for real.” Alejandro nodded. It was a few hours of silence before Horangi reappeared, wiping a bloody knife off with a cloth and a whistle. Alejandro’s stomach churned even as he knew it was the fastest way to address Valeria.

“Good news, I have a location.” Nikto straightened to some form of attention. “The bad news? It is one hell of a fortress.” Konig opened his vest pockets-and pulled out paper and pens. Rudy did a double take as Horangi drew a rough sketch. “It’s an old military storage unit. Got abandoned 30 some years ago after a mission went badly.” Konig suddenly jerked, Rudy’s eyes instantly fastening on him as his hand went on Nikto’s scruff, gripping it tightly as he spoke that other language again with a sour tint in his tone. Nikto had a flash of emotion, hand clasping on his knife before it relaxed, and he nodded, dangling in the air. Konig set him back down on the ground, grip shifting to his shoulder. Rudy refocused on Horangi’s description.

“Hijo de puta, that’s the base where she killed the son of La Arana.”

“sh*t.” Alejandro growled lowly. “Of course we wouldn’t find her, that base was practically leveled. Do we know what the defenses are?” Horangi nodded.

“Eo, some of it. There’s 3 mounted machine guns, 1.5 meter fence around the building with razor wire-f*ck, I hate razor wire-and cameras everywhere: no blind spots according to him. And frequent patrols.” Alejandro rubbed his neck, sighing heavily.

“I am not a stealth man. And…I don’t believe they are, either.” He gestured to Konig and Nikto. Horangi chuckled.

“You underestimate my teammates, but…” Horangi started speaking the same language as the others had been, albeit much more hesitantly and slow: he must have only recently started to use it.

“I’m glad you taught me Turkish. What do you think?”

“I am not skilled in stealth: I would spell disaster for the scenario going in. Is Rudy capable?”

“Yes. He’s one of the ones to sneak into the base to get the Vaqueros out.” Konig nodded stiffly.

“My suggestion is you and Rudy sneak in on opposite sides, while Alejandro and myself wait for it to go loud. Nikto provides sniper fire.” Horangi nodded vaguely.

“Solid plan.” He then turned to the others, saying easily, “So my big guy’s suggestion is for Rudy and I to enter on opposing sides of the base, which limits our chances of detection or both getting captured.”

“While the rest of us waits for things to go badly?”

“And Nikto provides sniper cover.” Horangi finished with a nod. Rudy said quietly,

“We need to move fast. Valeria will not stay there for long.” Alejandro nodded in agreement.

“Then we leave tonight. Where is the prisoner?”

“I left him over there tied up.” Konig said easily,

“Nikto and I will check while you get what you need.” Releasing Nikto’s shoulder, they both disappeared. Horangi knew the guy had less than an hour to live now as Alejandro and Rudy went to get their equipment.

2026, February 9^th: Rudy clambered up the wall in dead silence, carefully using wire clippers to cut the razor wire in half and gingerly move the wire out of the way without getting cut. He clung to the wall as a patrolman walked past him, then continued on in silence. He slammed a bat into the next one’s skull, hiding the possible corpse in the shadows before moving to the door, entering it easily. Alejandro’s birthday: she had always had an obsession with his mate since he wasn’t nearly as fazed as others were by her scent. It had grated on his nerves when he’d first met her, and now it infuriated him. He held a gun to an alpha’s head, snarling out in a low growl that didn’t match his body, as aggressive as he could get it, “Where is Valeria?”

“T-the backroom, it has a backdoor.” He killed him and kept moving, shooting out the hallway camera as he continued deeper inside, tapping comms.

“How is security footage looking?”

“Just got into the room. Cameras are down, but there is a secondary location the footage is being sent to, near the area you came in.” Rudy nodded absentmindedly.

“The backrooms, I am there now.”

“And…geoin, amudo, clear to engage.”

“Ready, obscuro?”

“Inside now, luz. Horangi’s friend is not a subtle one.” Rudy chuckled silently.

“Not all of us are good at hiding. Entering the basem*nt now.”

“There is no basem*nt on the blueprints. Be there soon.” Rudy didn’t reply to Horangi’s statement, continuing to go deeper. He smelled waxy leather, and looked up at the ceiling: Horangi was spider climbing along the roof, pausing only to nod and continue forward. Rudy was more impressed he had the body strength to do that feat than anything else, ducking under a metal staircase as soldiers ran through, shouting,

“Who the f*ck is stupid enough to go against El Sin Nombre?!”

“Someone willing to die!” Was the simple reply. Rudy looked over at the barred gate to find Horangi stopping it from closing all the way with a hand. Rudy nodded in thanks, scuttling through it quickly to another section. Horangi’s nose was wrinkling, and Rudy was flat dizzy. He could smell the cocaine, the marijuana. She had her hand in everything, and he was no better than a bloodhound trained to find them. He evaded the plants and sheets of drugs, opening a door slightly. No copper scent: no Valeria. He kept moving. The only mission here was to capture Valeria with the evidence they now had. Once she was gone, they could worry about the remains of the cartel. And then he heard Valeria’s voice, a soothing, taunting sound.

“Hello, little-” Bang. 2 more bangs. Rudy was next to Horangi in an instant, and saw her body.

“…f*ck.” She hadn’t fought back, a smirk still ghosting her lips as her right eye was gone and her brains were splattered on the wall. Her forehead had another bullet hole, and so did her neck. She had thought Horangi wouldn’t shoot her: confident about it. “Ale, she’s dead.” His lover cursed, shouting,

“What?” Horangi said flatly,

“Target KIA. Eo, out here.” Horangi gave a two-finger wave to Rudy. “Be safe, and good luck.”

“Wait-” Horangi was already gone, leaving a very puzzled Rudy to escape himself. He met up with Alejandro, who seemed alarmed as Los Vaqueros rounded up the others.

“She’s…just dead?”

“Valeria had no brains left in her head: he shot her three times.” Rudy rubbed his neck, sighing heavily. He couldn’t smell the salty cold, the cedar, or the waxy leather now: they were gone. “No questions, not even a single word. Pulled the trigger point blank against her skull. It was never a capture mission to them: it was an execute mission.”

“They used us to kill her.” Alejandro mumbled. Rudy didn’t know whether to be impressed or frightened by the callous Korean just…leaving after eliminating her. He was split between being grateful she was dead, and regretful they couldn’t see her face justice the way the law intended for her to. Still, she was no longer the one poisoning his and Ale’s life as well as Las Almas with her drugs and their shared history in the service…

Chapter 58: 2026, MW3 prologue

Chapter Text

2026, November 9^th: Ghost knew something was off. Gaz had picked up on it, too, as Price drove to the MacTavish house to pick up Soap for their weekly dinner. Only Price ever went to the door, and he’d only done it once before Soap started getting out earlier than they arrived, waiting for them. But it wasn’t the house or the truck or the people that was the issue. Something was following them. He didn’t have proof, had not seen anything near any of them, but he FELT it in the way his every sense burned, his eyes darted around, his body a little more restrained than typical, his nostrils flared and studied the air trying to figure out what made him so unnerved. Soap jumped in the truck, grinning stupidly at them as Ghost scanned the area. He knew every member of Soap’s ridiculously huge family. The only one of any strategic worth beyond hurting Soap was Archie ‘Iris’, his cousin that signed his slip to get him enlisted. And it definitely was not that normal sized alpha that was walking down the road. Gaz looked at the stranger as well when Ghost asked flatly, “Who’s that?”

“Him? Dunno.” Soap admitted. “Never seen him before. One sec-Oi!” The man stopped, locking eyes with the truck. He was wearing a mask that covered his entire face but his eyes, Soap leaning over both Gaz and Ghost to call out to him. Blue, sharp. Build was muscular, more so than Ghost usually saw. He was wearing a tank top with black gloves that just covered his wrists, but he was COVERED in scarring, rivaling Ghost’s own maze of skin and damage. Unlike Ghost, he seemed unbothered by his body’s damage, just looking dead at Soap with no shift in expression or tenseness. Almost doll like, mechanical. Ghost felt Gaz shift in discomfort at the gaze. Soap waved excitedly. “Are you moving in?” He shook his head. “Meeting someone?” He nodded. “Well, good luck, mate!” He resituated himself, smile faded slightly. “Uh, not me best idea there.” The man was still staring as Price drove away, frowning.

“No, it wasn’t. Gaz?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t get…anything.” Ghost paused as Gaz gripped Soap’s hand. Gaz got nothing. He always got something, be it intention, nationality, rage level, scent, military experience. Yet he had gotten nothing?

“Someone’s walking you home tonight, Soap.” Price said flatly. Soap nodded in agreement, glancing behind them at the no longer able to be seen man. “And you get to pick food this time.”

“Oh, uh…Barna’s?”

“I’ll need directions.” Soap slid into the front seat with ease, directing Price as Gaz asked softly,

“Did you get a whiff?” Ghost shook his head. “Only saw those scars like that on you.”

“Torture. No clue why?” Gaz shook his head, biting his lip. “I’ll keep an eye on Johnny and his family.”

“Good plan.”

“Family is clear: security is…decent.”

“Did you break in?”

“Nyet. This time.” Konig chuckled lightly, glad Nikto was starting to joke around. In his creepy, stalkerish way. “Targets headed to Barna’s.” Convenient: Konig was outside of that restaurant, getting mentally ready to get some takeout for their stakeout at their house. Horangi was checking on a Kyle Garrick’s family, and Konig had already checked briefly on the Price’s. With a General in their midst, they weren’t in any real danger. The last one to check was a man named Macoy MacMillian, and they couldn’t even find an address for him, only a general section of the woods 20 kilometers square.

“There now. Want something specific?”

“…Nyet. Lemon pepper engaged.” That scent belonged to Scottish one with the ridiculous mohawk: MacTavish. Konig nodded.

“Horangi?”

“Eo, Garrick’s are clear: security is good enough. Meet up with me at RV?”

“Copy.”

“I will join soon with food.” Konig took a deep breath and stepped inside.

Gaz relaxed as they drove, dismissing the concern as fast as he could. It was probably lack of sleep that had alarmed him coupled with the scars: most people didn’t like the stares so covered as many as they could. Then he felt PRICE tense as they entered the diner, the scent of burning cedar smacking him across the face and making his eyes water at the intensity. Soap stared up at the largest man Gaz had ever heard of rubbing his neck awkwardly at the counter, evading eye contact and not wearing gloves. He was definitely military: his stance was at ease, but you couldn’t deprogram years of standing at attention. He was wearing a plain grey t-shirt with cargo pants, with a very thick accent of Germanic region in a voice that sounded far too high to belong to such a body, with solid grey hair and a neat beard. “Y-yes, Danke.” The cashier was just as on edge as Price was, staring at the massive man. He was just…BIG, and Gaz could see while he was at least late 50s, he was extremely fit, able, and strong. “B-eh, sorry.” The cashier handed him a menu, stuttering out,

“N-no worries, sir-Soap!” The giant eased into a corner as Soap talked to the cashier in Scottish cheerfully. Gaz gave the mountain a side eye, Ghost not even bothering to hide his evaluation, though stepped a bit closer to Soap. He seemed to just be trying to read, squinting at the menu with a focused frown, but he put Gaz on edge. That wasn’t the body of a civilian, and he seemed far stiffer than someone off duty should be. Price took a step closer to the man.

“Need some help?” The giant jerked, squeaking out,

“E-eh? N-Nien, it’s fine.” Price chuckled slightly as the giant faced the menu again, frowning.

“Too small or wrong language?”

“I have it. Danke.” His tone went a bit sour, and Price raised his hands.

“Alright. Just offering, sir.” And backed off.

“Sir?” Gaz asked quietly. Price shrugged.

“Think he’s a general.” The man spoke flatly, Gaz surprised he heard considering how softly they’d been speaking.

“I was a colonel.” He stood up as Soap and the cashier’s talk died down, setting the menu in front of her. “These 3, bitte.”

“I’ll get right on that, sir, but it’ll be a few minutes.” He nodded, looking out the window with a pensive look on his face. Soap stated with a grin,

“You’re f*cking huge, mate.” He looked down, blinking a few times before scoffing.

“I am aware. You have a grasp of the obvious.”

“Eh.” He shrugged. Gaz once again was struck by the ease Soap made small talk. “So what brings a German to the Isles?”

“Austrian.” He corrected, looking around before locking eyes with Price, looking him up and down. He then broke the gaze to look over Gaz as Soap said easily,

“What brings an Austrian to the Isles, then? I live a few blocks down, so I know about this place, but-”

“Work.” He stated vaguely, looking over at Price again.

“What do you do? I was SAS meself, but-wait, you said you’re a colonel?”

“Retired. SAS?” Retired? But he just said that he was here for work. Did he mean he retired from the military and was doing something else? The vagueness of his answers was putting Gaz on edge.

“British special forces. What was your thing?”

“Field work.” Another vague answer that explained his muscle structure. What KIND of field work? There were almost thousands of types of field work between piloting, combat, breeching, extraction, and tech work (though Gaz definitely could rule that one how based on his body and movements).

“A field work colonel? That’s a new one.” Soap muttered. “I’m Soap.” The man glanced down at him again, looking puzzled.

“…As in hand soap?”

“Squeaky clean.” Ghost scoffed softly, Gaz looking at him in chagrin as he set a hand on Soap’s shoulder.

“Soap, he doesn’t want to talk.” The man looked at Ghost, up and down for several seconds, Ghost glaring back at him.

“…My friends like masks, too.” Gaz noticed how Ghost tensed, lips twitching just visibly under his mask in warning-

“Sir, here’s your food.”

“Ah, Danke.” He took the bundles and headed out. Gaz raised an eyebrow as Soap sat down.

“Ghost?”

“That scent had been around us before.” Gaz thought back, and nodded. There had been a faint scent of cedar around them for a while, not enough most could pick up, but when you were scent sensitive and your pack mate was paranoid…Price looked between them as they sat down.

“Okay, we’re establishing pairs. Between just now and that masked man on your street, that’s too many encounters.” Dinner was fine, Gaz noticing that as soon as the man left the tenseness that they’d both been feeling had evaporated. Soap even made Ghost actually lose it, snorting as his hand covered his mouth at the worst pun Gaz had ever heard, eyes sparking as he set his hand on Soap’s shoulder, devolving into giggles.

“f*ck, Johnny, that was awful!”

“Made you laugh, LT.” Soap taunted. Price whistled.

“So awful, it became good again. Nicely done!”

“Holy sh*t, I’m work with children.” Gaz sighed with a smile. Darkness fell before they finished. “Cap?”

“We’ll drop Soap off at his house, unless he wants to spend the night?” Soap opened his mouth, then groaned.

“sh*te, it’s the triplet’s birthdays. One sec.” He dialed a number.

Konig watched the screen as Nikto pulled it up, leaning over the seat in the larger truck. ‘Calling…Iris.’ The text flew by quickly, too fast for Konig to read the English as he grumbled softly in German.

“Why does the world revolve around English? Can’t it be German or Hungarian or Turkish or a language that makes SENSE?!”

“Staying with pack.” Konig locked onto the screen.

“They’re bonded. sh*t.” Nikto nodded vaguely, finger dancing along the edge of his knife. “Horangi?”

“Eo, I heard. I’ll get set up. Any warnings?” Konig said with a huff,

“There is one in a skull mask I can’t find any information on: be careful with him. He is vigilant and careful.”

“Skull mask?” Horangi asked in English, “Graves, who wears a skull mask in this group?

“Oh, sh*t, Ghost saw you?”

“Not me, but he saw Nikto and Konig.”

“sh*t. That, uh, would be Simon Riley. Don’t call him that, though. He goes by Ghost now.”

“Isn’t that the guy you said went crazy?”

“Yeah. He also hates me, for Las Almas. Which is reasonable, kind of hate myself for that.”

“He seemed…stable to me.” Konig stated gingerly.

“Well, I mean, he’s not as bad as Nikto.”

“We are not crazy.” He scowled out.

“Never said you were, buddy, but you are unstable.”

“…Da.” He conceded. Phillip finished,

“Just be careful. He shouldn’t attack unless he thinks you’re putting someone at risk, but who knows what’ll make him think that. Farah’s getting the shipment tomorrow morning, so just keep an eye on them for a little longer, make sure their families are safe enough. Once she has these supplies, we’ll pull out, okay?”

“Eo, gwan. Sounds good.”

“Still haven’t told me what that means.”

“Coffin.” Phillip scoffed in amusem*nt before disconnecting. “And Amudo means no one, Nikto.” He gave a barked laugh.

“As does Nikto.”

Chapter 59: 2026, November 10th

Chapter Text

2026, November 10^th: Farah tapped comms. “Shadow, Kilo Actual. At the port now. Will confirm when cargo is in my possession, stand by.”

“Roger that, Kilo. Shadow 2 has eyes on your pack: no issues so far.”

“We good?” Alex asked.

“So far.” She had mixed feelings about getting these missiles. Alex called, “Hold perimeter.”

“Stay on comms.” Alex nodded, giving her a quick kiss before heading off. Farah traveled with Dena, talking in a false calm about the situation. Urzikstan was at peace for the first time since Farah had been a child. She just wanted to make sure it would remain that way. And then Dena was dead. Farah barely managed to turn the truck to not die-

“Echo 3-1, Troops in contact, Kilo’s vehicle is down!”

“sh*t, Echo, hold position. Shadow to Kilo, do you read me? Farah?” She struggled to her feet, shaking her head clear. Not the worst head jerk she’d ever had.

“Kilo, we were ambushed. Dena is KIA.”

“Konni: they’re everywhere, Karim.”

“The missiles.”

“We can’t let them get those missiles, Farah.” Graves sounded genuinely panicked for once. “There should be some ammo scattered around that ship: I keep spare bullets around in case of sh*t hitting the fan.”

“Thank you.” She had no issues scurrying around the shipyard. It may be unfamiliar territory, but it was a familiar stake, risk, and execution. Graves continued softly,

“Need you to get GPS trackers on those containers if you can’t contain this. The manifest will be in the tower, trackers on the ship, control room.”

“Copy, heading for the trackers first.” She spotted his ship, seemingly abandoned. “Your ship is empty.”

“Not what I’d like to hear…I’m getting into a sniper position. Not the best shot, but I’ll provide some cover for ya’ll.”

“Thank you.” He wasn’t kidding about ammo being everywhere, of all varieties. Perhaps he was paranoid, but that preparedness kept him and his men alive as well as Farah right now, so she could forgive the wariness.

“Have trackers, going to tower now.”

“Damn, I thought Velikan was quick.” He had shared a few names. Velikan, Horangi, Oz, Konig, and Nikto were some that she could list off the top of her mind, but she had never met any of them, nor seen any picture. Another safety measure for his people, and not once did she begrudge him that.

“Last tracker on. Konni’s leaving with both missiles.” Graves cursed lowly.

“Solid copy. You did what needed to be done, Farah.”

“Echo?”

“Loud and clear. Konni’s pulling out: they got what they wanted.”

“And this is not over. We need to find these containers.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No. I need you here, to lead and…” To keep him safe. He was too precious to risk.

“KorTac’s got skin in this: they’ll want a piece.”

“True. There’s someone else we have to contact first. Kate.”

“Yeah. I’ll get wheels up. Good luck.”

Price nodded at Ghost as he ordered a bourbon, Soap getting a lager as Gaz just ordered a regular beer. The bar was mostly empty, just a black-haired alpha with his back towards them in the darkened corner, nursing some kind of bottle that smelled faintly of wax. The scent smelled oddly familiar. Nik was with Roach, showing him how to prep the heli at the kid’s request. He wasn’t that good at being a fighter, but he was gifted with tech and luck, so Nik was showing him everything related to it. Kate came in a few minutes, getting some wine. She was strained, body tense. Which didn’t bode well for what was coming since she contacted them. “What’s the problem, Kate? Found Shepard?”

“No, he’s totally off the grid. We’ve got bigger fish. I did some digging on the Russians.”

“That’s a dirty job.” Price said warily. It was never a good sign when Kate came to him about Russians.

“The Ultra-Nationalists are working with someone new.” She set the picture face-down, Price flipping it over-oh, f*ck. He couldn’t stop his scent from spiking, all of his kids looking at him instantly. “We don’t know his name.”

“He’s not new, Kate.” He slid the picture down so everyone could see, Soap’s jaw tensing as it got to him. Kate asked worriedly,

“Who is he?”

“Vladamir Makarov.” Price said tensely.

“Multiple fronts. He’s leading the Konni group. They hit the Urzikstan port before sunrise. Farah and Alex were there, but weren’t hurt. Their people took casualties and targets. They got American missiles.”

“What?” Price said softly. Soap snapped,

“What’s Makarov want these for?”

“I’m tracking them now. Once I get a fix, we’ll action it.” Ghost snapped,

“Said multiple fronts. Give us a target.”

“Konni’s converging on a nuclear power plant in Urzikstan as we speak, abandoned when Barkov died.”

“What’s there?” Gaz asked tensely, glancing around. Something had been putting both him and Ghost on edge.

“All four of you, soon as you can.” Price nodded curtly.

“Ghost, we recon. Soap, Gaz: secure perimeter. He goes nuclear, we stop him in his tracks.”

“How f*cked is it?” Graves whispered, Horangi sipping the tea casually as he considered his options. He hadn’t expected to see Laswell. That complicated this in some ways and simplified it in others.

“They’re going to a reactor in Urzikstan. Ghost and Gaz almost made me.”

“Keep clear of Ghost: he don’t miss anything. Gaz has the same specialty as you, but I don’t know much about him.”

“Understood. Amudo, geoin?” Konig spoke Turkish.

“Eyes on the other two here. One is definitely Nikolai, but there’s a very young man working on a helicopter: I don’t recognize him from the documentation and he keeps getting called Roach, so no name. Nikto’s having a good day.”

“That makes one of us.” Horangi mumbled in Korean, adding in English. “Kate Laswell. You never mentioned her being involved.”

“I didn’t think it was important-how do you know her?”

“We worked together to interrogate some cartel dirtbags in Las Almas when I was still military, right before my team and I were captured. Only 2 weeks, but I made an impression on her, Rodolfo, and Alejandro.”

“Think you can go with them?” Horangi shook his head.

“And keep hidden from Gaz and Ghost? Not possible.”

Price ensured everyone got to the ground intact, Laswell saying flatly, “Helos first, boys, you know the drill.” Keep the combat on the ground, out of the sky.

“Thanks for the assist, Kate.”

“Makarov means all hands-on deck. Scarecrow’s doing digging of his own, trying to find out how he got out and we didn’t know.” Ghost growled,

“Better find out fast. No radiation: clear for explosives.” Soap chuckled warmly.

“Cap, LT, check your packs: I put some surprises in there in case.”

“Johnny, warn a guy there’s ordinance in his pack.” Ghost sighed heavily as Price found the grenades.

“Appreciate the thought, Sargeant. Going hot in 3, 2-hot.” He blew the helo, and kept moving, killing as needed without flinching. “Helo down.”

“Good, 2 to go-1 to go, Ghost got another.”

“That got Konni’s attention. Enemies inbound. How’d it look?”

“Keep your jaw straight, pyro.” Ghost snapped half-teasingly. “No radiation.”

“If there’s no nuclear ordinance, what are they after?”

“Keep on it and find out.” Price snapped as it got messy.

“Doesn’t make sense: no radiation, but Konni should be in now.”

“Last helo down.” Price said lowly, taking brief shelter in a building as an enemy attack plane started raining hellfire down on them. “Gaz?”

“Eyes on. Konni’s forming up, they found something.” Ghost spoke lowly, quietly.

“On site: converging on the reactor dome.”

“Then we need to be there. Bravo, weapons hot, push up.”

“At the reactor, they’re getting closer.”

“Must’ve been looking for the power.” Kate said with strain in her tone,

“Whatever Konni’s after will be inside.”

“Ghost?”

“On it.” Price heard a missile fly through the air.

“Bird down, cap. Budging up now.”

“Rally at the reactor’s entrance.” Kate lost comms due to the metal and concrete, but short band went through everything.

“Cap, enemy helo over the reactor, dropping ropes.” Soap snapped,

“Bringing in secondary extract, we’ve got to stop them now!” Price whispered,

“In reactor. They’re extracting cannisters of something. Bring the helo down.”

“Can you confirm the contents-”

“Negative!” Price shot at the pallet, panicked Russian about not being able to contain it filling his ears as he saw green smoke filling the area. “Chemical weapons! Konni’s extracting chem weapons!”

“Laswell, track that helo. Price?”

“Reactor’s sealed, I’m locked in, have an ascender. No cover-” Price felt as if his lungs were burning, gripping his throat as tears swelled in his eyes. “What the f*ck kind of gas is this?!”

“Cap, grab the rope!” He couldn’t breathe, coughing up red chunks of his lungs while Soap yanked him up, slinging him into the heli. His eyes felt like he’d gotten ash in them, lungs as if they were melting. f*ck, it hurt so much-

Chapter 60: 2026, November 12th

Chapter Text

2026, November 12^th: Price groaned in pain, looking around. “Welcome back, Cap. You need to rest: that gas shredded your lungs faster than anything I’ve seen. Need to take it slow for a bit.”

“I-ACK!-I’m fine.” He choked out.

“Headache, nausea?”

“Always.” Gaz nodded.

“He’s well enough to move, but he needs to take it easy.” Soap half-joked as acid tinged his scent,

“Was worried your face was going to melt off like those other poor bastards.” Ghost mumbled,

“It’d be an improvement.”

“Cheeky bastard.” Price wheezed out, touching his neck. “The hell kind of gas was that? I’ve never seen something spread that fast. Konni got away?” Ghost nodded. “How the hell is Makarov doing this so fast? 3 days, and already-” He lost his voice to blood-filled hacking, Ghost shifting to sit next to him and practically spoon-feed him water.

“They got enough gas to kill a whole country.” Soap said weakly. Price choked out,

“F-Farah.” Gaz nodded.

“It’s her backyard: let’s get to her.” Kate said over comms,

“John?”

“I’m here. Feel like sh*t, though. Where are the missiles?”

“An abandoned bunker, built during the cold war.” Gaz frowned. Why a bunker for portable missiles? Price choked out,

“We’ll spread out and sweep the complex, get the missiles back-” Gaz covered Price’s mouth.

“Not on your call: you’re half dead. Ghost, you’re next highest.”

“Copy, I’ll make the call. Price is going to meet up with Farah, get some bed rest by force.”

“Good. I’m heading to Arklov to meet a contact who could help.”

“Kastovian? How are you getting in there alive?” Price wheezed, more blood spilling out of his mouth.

“Carefully, now stop talking. Your lungs are shot. I’ll report back when able.” Gaz patched Farah into comms.

“You read?”

“Yes. Head on swivels?”

“Always.” Gaz stated gravely, Ghost snapping,

“Russia’s back in Urzikstan.”

“Contractors, yes.”

“Konni group. Pulled a chemical stash up north yesterday.”

“Stole my missiles at sunrise.”

“All 3 days after Vladimir Makarov walked out of prison.” Soap snarled.

“Works quickly.” Ghost gestured Soap to calm down.

“Making up for lost time. Who sent you the missiles?”

“Shadow Company.” Ghost paused.

“They don’t have that firepower. Errand boys with tac vests.”

“They’re allies.” Ghost took a steadying breath.

“They carried out a hit on me and Soap.” Farah stopped replying for a second.

“Commander Graves did this?”

“He had orders, yes.”

“From who?”

“General Shepard. Did Shepard send those missiles?”

“My weapons are my business, Ghost.” She said warningly.

“Those men will kill you and the rest of ULF, Farah.”

“We are all dangerous, Ghost.” She took a deep breath herself. “I don’t want to lie to you, but I can’t tell you everything. What you call classified, I call secrets. And those secrets keep the people who depend on me safe. My country is under siege again.” Soap set a hand on Ghost’s shoulder, and said gently,

“Alright, we trust your judgement. But keep those guys at arm’s length.”

“Of course. Thank you, my pack.” Gaz asked,

“Mind if we drop Price at your base for a rest? Old man got hurt with gas.”

“Russian?”

“Yeah.”

“sh*t. Alex can pick him up. Meet you at the base.” Ghost kept it clean. This was something he had literally done while half-feral, was Soap’s specialty, and Farah had years of experience with. It was barely a challenge physically with so much experience it was practically muscle memory at this point. But there were things that didn’t bode well, mainly Konni painting ULF symbols all over.

“Makorov’s launching a false flag attack, blaming ULF and the west.”

“Making the world think I am the enemy.” Farah said weakly.

“Find the missiles, find the target, stop this before Farah’s enemy number one.” Ghost said sharply.

“Found our way in, acquiring now.”

“Overwatch down.” Gaz said softly.

“Inside, waiting for you, LT.” Soap said quietly. Ghost tapped his shoulder, and then entered.

“Let’s find these missiles.” Farah took out the men blocking their way.

“Appreciate the assist, Farah.”

“Always.” With the 3 of them together, it was even simpler, almost feeling criminal for how easily they got in. The missile was starting to launch as they pushed further in. “We get to the missile, I may be able to disarm it.”

“sh*t-all stations, I’ve got eyes on 2 missiles capped with chemicals. Repeat: they are chemical warheads!”

“Repeat that, Gaz?” Static. f*ck. They got inside, Farah almost panicking. Soap said easily,

“I did this while I was bleeding out.”

“It’s too late to stop it. We have to detonate it inside here: the chemicals won’t spread out inside.”

“I’ll find the blast doors and seal it: hold the launch as long as you can, Soap cover and get both of you out when ready.” Ghost snapped instantly, racing off and clearing the way. Damn, that was one f*ck of a tank!

“Ghost, target for second missile is Arklov base!” Gaz shouted, Ghost hearing the panic in his voice. Ghost reloaded. “Konni’s everywhere up top, this is a cluster f*ck.”

“Closing blast doors now, get out!” It detonated, Ghost gritting his teeth as his mind wanted to fog up-

“Holy sh*te, LT, that took the hair of my arse…”

“Chemicals were contained for these missiles.” Gaz said softly,

“Not here. Missiles on the way to Arklov.” Ghost pressed his comms.

“Kate, get your ass out of there, you have a chemical warhead on its way!”

Nikolai had felt strangely at ease all day, the smell of snow hitting his mind once in a while from something or another coupled with the scent of a fireplace tickling his nose, reminding him of his calmer childhood days, when his grandfather was still alive, made him food over the fire and told his stories of their ancestors. The heavy metal blaring was mostly for Roach’s benefit: the quiet kid preferred loud music, and Nik liked metal. “NIKOLAI!” He paused, looking over as he pulled off his welding helmet, blinking at the woman wearing far too warm clothing for Britain.

“Laswell!”

“Really?” She stopped his music, and Nik took a deep breath. He could smell the singed sugar: nothing good was going to come of the coming talk. And he knew what it was about. There was only a few things that could make Price leave him behind, and only two that could make the entire pack disappear without a word of explanation.

“Makarov?” He stated, blood chilling. Kate looked shocked.

“Word travels fast.”

“Only if he wants it to.” He had been in Russia during the peak of his strength. Makarov had more political and social pull then the entire military. Kate asked,

“Do you think he’s working for the Kremlin?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“I have a contact who might know. I need transport.”

“Where to?” He asked automatically, putting things away and gesturing to Roach, “Climb on board and start it up.” The kid nodded and obeyed as Laswell took a deep breath.

“Arklov Military Base.” Ex-f*cking-cuse him?

“Heavily guarded.”

“Can you-” He shot her an icy glare.

“To stop Makarov, without hesitation.”

“I need in and back out. Could go upside down quickly.”

“I specialize in upside down. I married Price, after all.” He hit the heli as it sparked, settling it instantly.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” She mumbled. He raised an eyebrow.

“Please. Who’s your contact?”

“Yuri Volkov.”

“Yuri…” He laughed. He had worked with Yuri a few times before: solid as they came for world peace’s sake. “He’s on payroll?”

“Never took a dime.”

“That’s Yuri. When do we leave?”

“How’s now?” Roach turned the heli on, giving a thumbs up with a grin.

“Of course, my friend. Good practice for the new kid.”

“Right into the fire.” He dropped her off, humming to himself as he headed back, still able to smell the snow, but now there was a hint of salt to it, strangely enough. He spent most of the time on the ground showing Roach the different buttons and switches while Kate did her magic. Then he heard an extremely frantic Ghost.

“Kate, get your ass out of there, you have a chemical warhead on its way!” What? “Kate, get the f*ck OUT!” Nikolai pushed Roach out of the way, fast starting it.

“Sorry, but this is emergency. Kate, are you alive?”

“For now, chemical warheads-I’m wearing a gas mask I swiped from storage, but it won’t do much.” Nikolai pushed the question of ‘why’ from his mind. “Looking to get to the roof for extraction.”

“Is Yuri with you?”

“No, we split up.”

“He’s survived worse.” Nikolai muttered.

“There now!” She jumped inside, pointing up frantically. The plastic mask was half-melted, and Nikolai got them out as Kate threw it off, breathing heavily. “sh*t, sh*t-sh*t. This is Nova 6-oh, f*ck.”

“Nova…that is what I was questioned on in ‘05. If the Russians had Nova 6. What is it?”

“A very, VERY dangerous gas.” Kate panted out, hands shaking as she patted around her pockets. “Need a cig, oh, f*ck…”

“Nyet, you are trying to quit. Here.” He gave her some nicotine gum, which she chewed on lieu of her nails. Then she paused.

“Why do I smell snow-” Nikolai had a gun trained on a man with a black mask on his face, blue eyes piercing into his own brown ones as a knife pressed against Kate’s throat. Roach covered his mouth, eyes widening.

“We go back to Britain, Da?” A Russian man with a scent of snow and salt. Nikolai cursed himself for not realizing sooner: his memories of that time were not that vivid without a reminder.

Farah felt sick. The airliner, her country. Deaths and blaming and her country at risk again-Alex gripped her hand. “It’ll be okay. We’ll figure this out. We have a location, let’s go find that black box before Konni and the authorities do.” Price answered his phone with a wheeze: Farah had never seen him look so ill before.

“Kate.”

“Price.” Farah, Alex, and Price all looked at each other. She only called him Price when there was a problem. “What’s the sitrep now?” Why wasn’t she saying the problem?

“Farah and Alex are going to-ACK-wipe the black box of the crash clean. What’s-”

“We’ll meet you in Urzikstan soon. Be careful: this is bigger than you think.” She hung up. Alex’s mind was going haywire at the briefness and curtness. Vagueness came with CIA territory, but the curtness was never Kate’s style. He pushed it from his mind: there was a situation that needed immediate addressing. Farah barked as they drove,

“Cover me from high ground.”

“Copy, Karim. I’m with you, mate.” She flushed under her mask Ghost had gifted her, avocados filling the air before she disappeared towards the crash site. It was embarrassing, how easy Alex could rile her with a word of endearment. She shook it off, entering stealth combat. She felt so much rage and disgust at these men. All she ever wanted was her country to know peace, yet Russia would not let them be. She was tired of the war and death and pain, but if it saved a child from experiencing what she had. Samara, one of her retired soldiers. She had left after Barkov was killed, needing the peace. Yet she had died being framed as a terrorist. “Uh, Kilo, problem.”

“What?”

“I’m compromised, stand by.” Even in the midst of issue, he sounded so calm. “Contact-GO! Get out of here-they’ll frame you-”

“You are mine, Alex, I am not leaving you!” She got hostile until he was by her side, at which point they bolted.

“Sorry. What’s next?”

“It is alright, my love. Everyone gets caught eventually. We need to find where those Konni came from and where they’re headed. I want you to track them. Do not engage unless absolutely necessary.”

“I’ll keep my distance.” She chuckled.

“Try not to get caught this time.” He laughed lightly back.

“No promises.”

Kate looked over the video as the Russian held a gun to her head. “Nikto.” The massive man sighed again, speaking Turkish gently. The gun dropped, though Nikto glared at her as if she offended him. “Bitte Sie.” He turned the sound back on.

“This doesn’t look good. Crash site?”

“Planting evidence to frame us and collecting the rest. Took out as many as we could and took the phones.”

“Black box?”

“Wiped it clean.” Kate wasn’t sure what these two men wanted or were waiting for. They hadn’t stopped her from communicating with her team, hadn’t stopped her work. The apex was alarming, even as he sat down in a chair that creaked under his weight. It was almost amusing, but it was more frightening as he turned his eyes onto her after scanning the room again. She didn’t know what to make of this situation. A German-speaking apex working with a Russian, possibly the leader given how ‘Nikto’ seemed to obey him. Apex were prized in the military if they could control themselves. They were sought after. Perhaps Russia or Makarov had paid him handsomely for cooperation? What she did know is that he took in her stance, pistol on the table, her tenseness. He definitely saw everything she was desperately trying to hide. But he made no comment to her directly. He had only apologized, and tried to keep Nikto from aiming weapons or putting a knife to her throat. She turned her focus back to the conversation with Farah.

“Smart. You stopped Makarov from controlling the narrative. If Konni left that plane, they would have been dropped off somewhere. He wouldn’t leave that loose end.”

“Some will believe the ULF was responsible.”

“ULF…” The German mumbled under his breath, attention turned to Roach and Nikolai prepping the heli. Kate ignored him.

“Thanks to you, no one can prove it. you beat Makarov at his own game. People can speculate all they want.”

“Not enough. I sent Alex after Konni. If they’re in Urzikstan, he’ll find them.”

“Copy. When I regroup with 141, whatever we know, you’ll know. Farah.” She could feel both of their eyes on her neck.

“Yes, Laswell?”

“I’m sorry about Samara.”

“Me, too.” She echoed softly, the call disconnecting. Kate aske tensely,

“What do you want?”

“Eh? Oh, Nien, nien. Nikto got…Ach…” Nikolai called in German something, and the German looked ecstatic.

“You speak German?”

“Yes. What do you want?” Nikolai spoke tensely and harshly, even as he clung to the helicopter. Konig could do nothing about the fear the man felt: it was always that way.

“We are here to help address Makarov. Nikto was on the aircraft due to concerns about you both going to Russia without backup. He has difficulties with impulse control, and got distracted when the gas appeared. We don’t intend to hurt any of you: just kill terrorists. The only reason we have not left yet is our other team mate is occupied with securing your home. He’s not going inside: that is your safe area, but he is ensuring no one unwanted can get in.” Nikolai looked him over, back pressed on the side of the helicopter. He turned to Laswell.

“He says they intend to help take down Makarov, not hurt any of us. Nikto had issues when the gas appeared, and so responded in what he thought was appropriate manner.”

“If that’s the case, why haven’t we left to do that?”

“They are waiting on-”

“Eo, I’m back. Sorry: that second floor window was a pain in the ass. Miss Laswell.” Konig sighed in relief at Horangi appearing, waving to them. Kate’s eyes bulged, staring at him.

“Captain Kim Hong-Jin?”

“Horangi, please. I told you: I only get called captain when I’m in trouble. Geoin, Amudo, we ready?” Konig nodded, patting Horangi’s shoulder lightly and gesturing to the heli as Kate just stared.

“You were reported KIA 6 years ago.” Horangi shrugged, Nikto already on board.

“You of all people know how valuable intel is: false intel protects you. Come on: let’s get your pack out of the danger zone.”

Chapter 61: 2026, November 13th

Chapter Text

2026, November 13^th: Gaz helped Price down, the others scanning the area. That scent that hadn’t left was more abundant here at the safe house Kate established: snow and cedar. Price called at Kate stepping outside,

“Kate, what’s going on? You holding up?”

“I’m fine, John. There was a…misunderstanding you’ll understand soon. Are you okay?” Price embraced Nikolai with Gaz as the Russian man laughed, squeezing them tightly.

“Misunderstanding? You alright, Nik?”

“Yes, just…had a fright. f*cking Ultranationalists.” Kate led them inside the building, the cedar and snow scent stronger, and now accompanied by another scent: waxy leather.

“Security feed from the airport. Passenger had a boarding pass for the flight that went down.”

“No one stopped him.” Gaz swore under his breath as Price took a seat, looking worn out. Soap stood up.

“That’s f*cking Makarov.” Gaz asked flatly, his nerves starting to go on edge,

“What’s Farah and Alex get?”

“Not enough to prove anything.” Soap was seething in silence, biting his tongue hard enough Gaz could see blood starting to pool. Which was alarming: Gaz had never seen Soap hold his tongue for anyone.

“Killing f*cking civilians.”

“Pinning it on Farah.”

“And the United States.” Price said weakly,

“False flag op: he wants a war.” Nikolai scoffed.

“East vs West, title fight of centuries.”

“Are people believing this, Kate?” Gaz asked gently. Kate was more on edge than typical, even for this kind of scenario.

“We’re on the brink, boys.” Soap snarled, hitting the table, and making Nik and Roach jump,

“Had him right in our f*cking hands!” Price shook his head.

“I should’ve killed him when we had the chance.”

“What stopped you, John?”

“Scarecrow. Said he had intel. Don’t know if he got anything, but that’s why.”

“Shepard told him that before he went AWOL.” Kate said softly. Gaz’s head jerked up as the cedar scent turning into a raging fire, the snow turning to salt. Price and Soap didn’t notice: Ghost definitely did, grip tightening on his knife as Price muttered,

“Shouldn’t have stopped you.”

“Was the right thing at the time, cap.” Ghost looked around, eyes scanning every inch before settling on a specific corner, piercing it with his gaze. Gaz followed it to a darker corner than there should be-an alert drew their attention to the computer.

“Secure transmission, Pentagon ID.” Nikolai stood to leave. Price shook his head.

“No, pepper spray. Stay, please.” Gaz saw Shepard and bared his teeth to no sound.

“Kate. Let’s talk.” Price stepped in front of the camera.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

“John, it’s a family affair. Even better.”

“What do you want?” He snapped, Gaz taking a step back until he could control that instinctual reaction and Price needed him.

“Vladimir Makarov, same as you.” Kate said in a false calm,

“Go on, General.”

“I got a lead on Makarov’s bankroll.” Soap snapped hostilely,

“We’re not looking for money!” Price raised a hand to get him to settle slightly.

“Soap, find the money, find the man.” Gaz pressed,

“Where are you getting intel? Without an army, you got nothing.”

“Wrong again, boys.” Gaz now KNEW there was at least one other person in this building. All three of the scents he’d been semi-tracking spiked again, this time in clear concern. Soap breathed,

“Un-f*cking-believable.” Graves waved cheekily.

“Soap, ya’ll miss me? Well, technically, ya’ll did, didn’t ya?” Ghost snarled,

“Laswell, if you’re tacking this, let’s call an airstrike.”

“Ghost, that is not nice.”

“What are you up to?!”

“I’m up to doing my f*cking job, buddy, you should try it sometime.”

“My f*ckING JOB-is to kill the enemy. Guess what you are.” Shepard spoke again as Kate gently turned Soap away.

“Let’s keep this professional, boys. Captain, let me paint you the bigger picture. You need Makarov in a pine box, and I’ve got the nails.” Kate asked as politely as possible even as burnt sugar burned Gaz’s nose,

“In exchange for what?”

“A way back. I’m not going out like this; I want my name on a win. Check your inbox, Kate, I’ll be in touch.” Kate whispered,

“I got a name and location.”

“I am not sending my men on a mission from him.”

“This isn’t a mission, John, this is intel.”

“No-He’s a f*cking liar, Kate.” He snapped lowly; rage barely contained.

“I’m CIA. I know all about lies. So do you.” Price shook his head, hands shaking. Gaz took a deep breath.

“Cap. We do deals for intel all the time. This is no different.” Soap groaned.

“He’s right. Road to hell or not, Gaz’s right.”

“We got this. Johnny?”

“You know it, LT-why the f*ck do I keep smelling a cedar fire?” Price frowned, Kate rubbing her head.

“That’s a question with an interesting answer, Soap.”

“What does that mean, Kate?” She rubbed her neck harder, hands shaking.

“Well…There’s some people who are going to be helping.” Multiple? Gaz’s eyes widened at a camo-covered small man stepped forward. “John Price, meet Horangi. I’ve worked with him before.” He raised a hand, not an inch of skin visible except the tips of his fingers exposed by fingerless gloves. “Rudy and Alejandro have worked with him as well: solid as rock.”

“Hello, nice to meet you all.” Ghost had his knife out now, looking over Horangi warily. Gaz could get some things, but not as much as usual. He was young, lots of military experience. A slight lisp: likely had facial scars. Nails were sharp, dual guns and knives on hips, casual stance. He didn’t take many things seriously but had enough experience to make up for that. Waxy leather: he’d been the one Gaz kept smelling the day Kate approached them over Makarov.

“And who I’m not as sure about, but Horangi vouches for.” A giant man-Soap exclaimed,

“The colonel guy from Barna’s?!” He nodded, standing at attention naturally.

“My name is Konig, Soap. Sorry for the…alert.”

“Alarm.” Horangi corrected easily. “English is not really the big guy’s thing, but he tries.” Konig rolled his eyes. Gaz saw Ghost slowly moving towards that corner he had stared at earlier-a glint was all the warning Gaz got before two men were clawing at each other’s throats in silence. Konig swore, grabbing the man who looked alarmingly familiar by the scruff and saying something hotly in what Gaz thought was Turkish, Price having a gun on the masked man-

“YOU!” Konig rubbed his head, looking frustrated as Soap exclamation.

“Nikto is bad with people. Put it away.” He said lowly. Nikto slowly complied, glaring at Ghost as Ghost glared right back.

“And that would be the third person coming to help. No, I don’t know anything else, but I trust Horangi. His methods can be cruel, but he’s a loyal soldier.” Price raised a hand.

“Konig. As in, Colonel Konig Kilgore?”

“I retired, but ja.” Gaz had heard of him: he was the highest ranked apex in the Austrian army, the first one to ever get that high. He retired almost 10 years ago. The colonel wasn’t fond of pictures, and usually wore a sniper hood on the field.

“And you were stalking us?” Horangi waved him off.

“Commander Farah asked us to ensure you all were safe. So we did. And now, we are going after our other mission.” Ghost glanced at Price, as did Gaz. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do here, with 3 people randomly appearing.

“Kate?” She nodded.

“Trust me, they could have seriously hurt us and didn’t. Also, Nikto is a damn good cook.”

“Alright. Ghost, Soap, head out and be bloody careful.” Ghost nodded.

“What did we get from Shepard?”

“How much came from Graves?” Soap muttered sourly.

“Partners in crime, boys. I vetted their intel, and it’s good. They found Makarov’s financier: she’s an oligarch named Milena Romanova. Been doing Makarov’s dibbing behind the scenes for years.”

“Where?” Ghost snapped, checking his gun over while glaring at Nikto.

“Private Island. Fortress in paradise. Guess who runs security.”

“Konni group.”

“Intel includes blueprints and lay of the land.”

“We can’t roll up Milena?” Soap half asked bitterly.

“Not legally.” Horangi offered. Kate shot him a look.

“Quiet. We can roll up her money. Island has servers that can get us into her banking. Get a FOB key, I can get a live line and crack it. I’ll pilot a drone and have eyes on.” Roach waved her down. “Want to do it, Roach?” He nodded eagerly. “Boys?”

“Good with us: text to speech is 2^nd row, 3^rd over.” Roach gave a thumbs up with a grin.

Soap grumbled quietly, “Working with a buncha strangers…I’ll track down the HVI.”

“Securing perimeter.” Kate offered,

“When Shadow scouted the island, they left some bullets around.”

“Copy. Securing the beach.”

“HVI’s name is Nestor Gustev.” He won’t be home for dinner, Soap thought bitterly.

“At security building.” Roach’s text-to-speech voice said,

“Check it. High alert, not for you.”

“Understood.” She was scared of Makarov, Shepard, or both. “FOB secured, bunker open.”

“Perimeter secure: no evac.” Ghost hissed lowly.

“Data encrypted. Calls from main house.” Roach informed.

“Copy. Target’s in there.”

“Protect to death.” He warned.

“Death it is, mate.” Soap cleared house. Roach started playing a call.

“Who is accessing the terminal, find Gustev, now!”

“Milena’s spooked: she loves that money.”

“We’ll weaponize that.” Ghost huffed. “Inside. Where is she?”

“Office, 3^rd floor, locked door. Cut power, open remotely.”

“Copy. Good work, Roach. Johnny?”

“Clean and clear, my specialty.”

“Power’s down now.”

“Right on time, LT. Pop ‘n lock, Roach.” The kid laughed; Ghost scoffed out.

“f*cking hell, MacTavish.” He burst in.

“SAS, show yer hands!” She complied, and Soap rolled her a chair. “Sit.”

“f*ck you.”

“Sit down, Milena.” She did, and Soap asked as politely as he could make himself, “Where’s your boss?”

“I don’t have a boss. No one tells me what to do.” sh*te, this was not his skillset-Ghost appeared, setting a laptop down. Soap offered his hand palm up.

“Gimme your hand.”

“Or what, you’ll cut it off?”

“Not my style. He might.” Ghost was staring at her, standing at attention. She paled slightly, then snapped,

“Why the mask?” He didn’t reply: Soap did, smirking at Ghost.

“Hides his ugly mug.” He gestured her to give her hand, and she complied with a scoff.

“In.” Roach said happily.

“Nothing in my banking will get you any closer to Vladimir.”

“We’ll see about that.” Roach was quiet for a bit, then said,

“Money to Zordaya Prison.”

“Gulag.”

“Money for Makarov’s escape.” She shrugged, unfazed.

“Wealth opens doors.” Soap shrugged back.

“Let’s withdraw some rubles from Makarov’s coffers then.” Roach chirped happily. Soap wondered again if the guy even had any idea what was happening at any time. “85 mil of Makarov’s transferred to a CIA black fund.”

“Vladimir’s work is already bought and paid for. You’re not very good at this.” Aye, this wasn’t really his skill set.

“Neither are you. All your men are dead and your accounts are wide open.”

“You’re stealing from Makarov’s future, not mine.” Both Gaz and Horangi suggested,

“Target her personal accounts.” Ghost called from the window,

“Need to get off the X. Make this happen or we take her.”

“Swiss.”

“This is your personal account, huh?” Her face twitched slightly. Ghost pressed,

“Hardly touched.”

“Will be.” She demanded in Russian with every ounce of authority she could muster. Too bad Ghost didn’t get affected by alpha tones and Soap was too pissed to care. “Let’s drain it.”

“Don’t you f*cking dare!”

“Something wrong, Ms. Romanova?”

“I don’t know Makarov’s plans: I am a financier, nothing more!”

“Give your print.” Ghost growled lowly. Soap added,

“Or tell us where to find Makarov.”

“f*ck you, and that little birdie in your ear! That account is my money! I fought for it, I EARNED IT!” Gaz said softly,

“Last push.”

“Last call, or he takes over.” Ghost gave a slight smirk, the color draining from her expression again.

“He’ll know you were here, I’m as good as dead without my money, I NEED MY MONEY!” Soap heard someone curse in the background of the comms, but didn’t know who. Ghost leaned over her.

“We need Makarov. Where is he?” She shouted,

“Vostok! There’s a wire transfer to Vorstok Capital in St. Petersburg. Vladimir buys old properties, abandoned buildings. I don’t know how he uses them. That’s all I can tell you!”

“You are good.” Soap smiled, offering a hand.

“Pleasure doing business with you.” They headed out, Milena shouted,

“When you beg him for your lives, he won’t let you have them!”

Konig took a deep breath. f*ck, he hated interrogations…Horangi set a hand on his thigh. “Eo, you good?”

“Ja, just…not fond of that part of it.” Nikto had left as soon as the interrogation started, scowl reaching his eyes. “I will find Nikto.” He nodded, watching the giant head off. Gaz asked,

“Not a fan of interrogation?”

“Eo, Konig is a bleeding heart for people in tough times. Hard as steel in the field, though. Can’t ask for a better team lead.”

“Hmm. Kate, what do we have that’s actionable?”

“One of Romanova’s many shell companies purchased an abandoned apartment complex in St. Petersburg for the Konni group, very recently. Recon shows a recovery balloon.”

“Evidence they don’t want something or something found.”

“I located the building, and I think our new friends should go help clear it. You and Ghost have been working nonstop for 24 hours.” Konig reappeared with Nikto, hand on his shoulder. “Colonel, care to clear a building?” Soap called over comms,

“With me.” Konig considered this. Horangi could watch Nikto, since it was a good day.

“Ja, okay.” Ghost snapped,

“Next mission is me, then Gaz.” Price opened his mouth, and Nikolai covered it, saying sternly,

“You are still coughing blood. No talking, no missions.” Nikto spoke Turkish, Gaz glancing at him.

“Nova 6: drinking vinegar speeds healing.” Konig looked down at him in concern. He only chuckled, blue eyes wide and wild.

“Ja. Herr Nikolai?” Nik paused, looking up at him at the German words. “Nikto suggests drinking vinegar: it may help him heal a bit faster somehow.”

“Yes, thank you.” Nikolai gave him a second glance before heading into the kitchen, coming out with a bottle of what Konig assumed was vinegar. Konig added in concern,

“It will likely be painful.” Before looking down at Soap. He was a small one, wasn’t he? Years of experience told him that just made Soap all the more dangerous. Small alphas had more to prove and more standing to lose if they didn’t prove themselves. Soap asked in that thick accent that muddled the already challenging language,

“You don’t speak English well?”

“Nein, but I…understand it.” Soap nodded.

“Good enough for me.” Kate called,

“The complex is a maze. Soap will provide cover from the rooftop while Konig searches the ground.”

“How do we extract?”

“Helo’s too risk. You catch something worth bringing home, Nik’ll pull you out via fixed wing.” Fixed…what? Ghost mumbled,

“Skyhook.” Ah, that term he knew.

Soap hummed in Konig’s ear as he established a point, Konig rolling his shoulder.

“Sure the old man can handle this?” Horangi laughed over comms.

“You talk a lot of sh*t.”

“Multiple Konni troops, no Makarov, don’t know the bloke in charge.”

“Running it down, see if I get a match.” Soap asked,

“In position, Konig?”

“Ja. Let’s play.”

“One word for it.” Soap mumbled, looking for the giant man. Kate spoke up.

“Got a hit on the HVT. Andrei Nolan: he goes back to the Inner Circle days with Makarov. High on the Konni food chain.”

“Let’s get him so Gaz can have a chat, aye? How do we extract?” Konig growled, snapping a man’s neck as he turned the corner,

“Alive.”

“Descriptive. I’ll secure exfil.” Konig didn’t use his gun. He didn’t need to: these soldiers were woefully underprepared for him. The only thing that caused him pause was the stairs being blocked. He went through the balconies to get to the roof. “Nolan alerted his team: they know you’re there.”

“Knowing will not save their lives.” Soap hummed.

“What’s your beef with Makarov?” Beef? What did…

“That means problem?” He asked,

“Aye.” Konig scowled, shooting a man in the skull as he went forward.

“Makarov is a terrorist. I need no ‘beef’ beyond that.”

“Aye, fair enough. Just feels kind of personal for you.” Makarov was not the personal mission. Konig felt the same level of disgust for that man as he did any other terrorist who killed thousands of civilians living their lives in peace. “Almost to the roof, mate. They’re going to start digging in.” He was expecting as much. “Coming your way.” Soap waved at him from the ladder. “Light up everything that moves, we take Nolan alive.” As if Konig needed a mission refresher. He ignored it: Soap seemed to be a bit distracted with his own issues against Makarov. He jumped the roof’s barrier and bolted in.

It was horrifying to see Konig charge in like some kind of living missile. Soap nearly shat himself at the sight, even with being fairly certain he wasn’t going to kill Soap himself. Nolan was on the ground, Soap creeping closer. He may be down, but anyone with Makarov was dangerous. “Don’t keep me waiting, you f*cking f*ck!” How imaginative. Soap decked him unconscious, hoisting him onto his shoulders. Konig called briskly,

“Enemies inbred.” Soap snorted as Konig paused briefly.

“Target secure. Oscar Mike for extract.” Kate called,

“Copy that, Yankee’s inbound, two mikes. Prep for skyhook.” Soap had never worked with a skyhook before: it sounded bloody terrifying. He joked,

“Hope we’ve got enough mags to hold them off ‘til Nik gets here. They really want this bastard back.”

“They can have him in hell.” Soap got him to the extraction point, then paused, confused. sh*te, what did he do here-Konig snapped, “Shoot them!” before linking a rope to his tac vest and pulling out his-a sniper rifle? Why did he have a sniper rifle? “Clear the area, Ja?”

“On it!” Soap took a knee next to Nolan, and Konig disappeared into the roof until Nik called,

“Coming on station, stay near exfil point!” and the giant reappeared, hands slick with blood and eyes wide underneath the sniper hood. “Hook in!” Soap grabbed the rope, fumbling slightly-Konig clipped it with a firm if bloody grip, and Soap yelped as they were jerked away, grasping his vest and screwing his eyes shut. Okay, he did NOT like the skyhook. Konig disconnected him and headed over to his group, them talking quietly in Turkish as Gaz took Nolan away.

Chapter 62: 2026, November 14th-16th

Chapter Text

2026, November 14^th: Kate asked wearily, “What’s the state of play with Nolan?” Gaz sighed, rubbing his eyes. He’d been questioning Nolan for 7 hours straight now, and his eyes felt as if they were burning.

“More the silent type now. War with the world, that’s for sure, blind faith in Makarov.” Nik raised Nolan’s phone.

“Makarov needs him, there’s been contact non-stop. He knows something’s wrong.” Roach and Kate nodded.

“We hacked their comms. He’s quiet, but the radio and phone speak volumes.”

“What do we know?” Soap asked, eyes just as bloodshot as Gaz’s were.

“They’re delivering someone or something to an abandoned Soviet Prison complex, Siberia.”

“When?” Roach signed,

‘Tomorrow.’ Konig looking up. Soap snarled,

“This is our shot at Makarov.” Ghost warned,

“No guarantee he’s there.” Soap argued back,

“Something he cares about is.” Nikolai nodded.

“I can get you in and out.” Price signed, wincing,

‘I want everyone on this, even Farah. She and Ghost are the best snipers I know.’ Konig offered,

“Nikto is sniper. We are taking down Makarov together.” Nikto looked up, eyes glinting as Horangi frowned.

“Snipers for what?” Ghost snapped,

“You know sign?”

“British and German.” Konig said flatly, staring Ghost down. Kate said warily,

“Nikto’s a sniper?” Nikto nodded, Soap looking at him warily.

“Alright. Ghost, Gaz, Soap, Konig, and Nikto is the team. I’ll relay. Ghost, take point.” Konig didn’t argue, Ghost stating coldly,

“Need C4 and dry gear.” Soap grinned.

“We’re getting wet.”

“So’s Makarov.” He snarled as they headed out.

2026, November 15^th: “Watcher to 0-7, sitrep?” Ghost tried to push the bristling under his skin as Nikto stared at the convoy, scanning it for something. He whispered softly,

“In position with Nikto. Bravo’s in the water.”

“Copy. Incoming?”

“Southeast, 4 vehicles.”

“Sign of Makarov?”

“Nyet.” Came Nikto’s snapped statement of annoyance, Ghost masking his surprise the Russian could speak. He seemed to think any talking was too much talking. How he was okay with Horangi, Ghost doubted he’d ever understand. Ghost added,

“High security on 3^rd vehicle. All bravo, how copy?”

“Solid, Ghost. Here they come. Soap.”

“Aye. 3, 2, 1, fire in the hole.” The ice detonated, and Soap giggled out, “Good effect on target.”

“Roger. Go to work. We need him alive.” Nikto’s finger was twitching on the trigger, caressing it softly.

“No Makarov: just a prisoner.” Gaz stated.

“Pull him.” Ghost barked.

“Prisoner secure, moving to surface.” Nikto disappeared, starting to cross the ice.

“Nikto’s converging.” Gaz called,

“Copy. Target was not in convoy. Prisoner has been secured.”

“Can you ID?” Ghost could HEAR Konig’s grip tighten against his flesh as Gaz swore softly. Ghost could see the bald head from here. Oh, f*ck. Soap muttered,

“Steaming Jesus.”

“MacTavish. What the f*ck? Sargeant-” He was in Konig’s grasp. The apex snarled lowly in German, Ghost’s hair raising at the sudden sign of aggression. Soap and Gaz both took a step back. “You?”

“Ghost, you see this?”

“In my sights.” He snarled. Soap snapped,

“Let’s smoke him and call it a day.” Kate asked,

“Who do you have?”

“Gold-f*cking-Eagle Actual: General Herschel Shepard in the cold flesh.” Kate swore softly.

“Ghost, we’re sitting ducks out here.”

“Let’s move him.” Konig carted him away, then released him just in time for Soap to slam him against a tree.

“Why are you here?”

“They’re hunting us, John-” Gaz grabbed Soap’s shoulder as he snarled. “They found me first. When’d 141 get an apex on their side?” Konig hummed lowly, almost a growl but not quite. “Don’t try to threaten me, colonel. I’m a four-star United States General.” Soap snapped,

“They kept you alive? Let’s toss this bastard back into the lake.”

“I know Makarov’s next target.” Gaz scoffed.

“You didn’t know you were the target.”

“You were chasing your own damn tails before I stepped in!” Soap slammed him against the tree again.

“You give it to us, then.”

“You get me out of here first.” Kate said quickly,

“All stations, I’m tracking helos inbound north, 10 clicks.” Ghost mumbled,

“Gaz?”

“Oligarch intel was solid. He’s lying now, we still use him. Dump him, we get nothing.”

“Then we take him. Pushing to exfil: I’ll cover. Pops, we’re plus one.”

“That’s more like it. Now how about a jacket and a gun?” Soap and Gaz snapped,

“NO.” Nikto had a knife to Shepard’s throat, the general’s eyes widening in surprise.

“You get a knife and Nikto.” Konig corrected. “Don’t be stupid, general.” Soap growled,

“One wrong move and I’ll put a hole through you.”

“Soap, take point there. I’ve got targets up here.”

“Copy. Nik, we’re hoofing it to transport and driving to LZ for extract.”

“Your guest will slow you down. Watch your backs.” Shepard grumbled,

“Freezing my ass off here.”

“Walkers in woods.”

“We should take them out-” Nikto put a knife to his throat, growling in warning. He didn’t speak again with a knife pressed against his throat tight enough to leave a red line, Soap frankly impressed he hadn’t pissed himself yet. Konig was watching everything in silence, Gaz doing the same. He heard a gunshot, and Konig was gone, Gaz just as abruptly.

“Sniper down.” Gaz called, sounding alarmed.

“Aye, big guy’s a wee bit violent.”

“Your transport’s compromised. Securing LZ now. Cut through the ridge past the field on foot: RZ at the lumbermill when able.”

“With our luck, we’ll find more visitors on the way.”

“Should’ve brought Roach.” Ghost half-joked. It was a few minutes later when Soap heard explosions. Exact distance and intensity put it at the lumbermill.

“Ghost, come in.”

“Konni’s surrounded the mill. Keeping hidden best I can.”

“Be there soon, hold position.”

“On a rooftop. Covering you.”

“Gaz, take Shepard and find cover.” Nikto almost resisted, but Konig said a single word in Turkish and he complied. “Head on a swivel: target rich environment.” Konig gestured for Nikto to do something, and the man disappeared. Konig went off as well. Soap joined Ghost on the roof once he cleared the building. “Broken?”

“Negative. Enemy vehicle incoming.” Soap threw a grenade onto it, blowing it sky high as Ghost sniped. “Area secure, RV behind the mill. Come on, Johnny, let’s get to Nik.” Shepard spoke, looking at Konig.

“You’re a long way from home, Kilgore.”

“You are farther.” He said curtly. So those 2 knew each other?

“I’ve always had-”

“Now is neither time nor place, general.” Soap joked, feeling on edge,

“Konni decided to stop by, eh?”

“Not in the mood for visitors.” Ghost mumbled. “Nikto, Shepard, and Konig, go right, Gaz, Soap, and me left.”

“Ghost, sitrep.”

“LZ is hot, Get Nik inbound but hold him of ‘til area’s clear.” Nikto was a good shot. Price was better, but he was good, eyes cold and distant. “LZ’s clear!”

“Touching down now, Ghost.” He opened the door, getting everyone on board. Konig had to squeeze into the very back. “All in.”

“RTB, Laswell.”

“Copy, fly safe.” They landed about 200 kilometers away where Kate was waiting, Shepard being thrown to the ground.

“Hell is this?!”

“Crossroads.” Soap said coldly. He looked up at Kate, who looked down in disgust.

“Without the stars and bars, you look like frozen sh*t, General.” He looked around, eyes hovering over Konig for a bit.

“Best of the best, all in one place.”

“With one glaring exception.” Gaz said, devoid of emotion but fury burning.

“What is the agenda of this little pow-wow?”

“A choice.” Soap offered. Shepard snapped,

“Do I have one?”

“NO.” Ghost snapped right back.

“I’m all ears.” Kate took a deep breath.

“Own up. Tell us everything.”

“You know everything.”

“Congress doesn’t. And I bet they’d be all ears, wouldn’t they?”

“That’s it?” Nikto spoke, Gaz looking at him in surprise.

“Nyet. Clear ULF’s name. You gave missiles, say why.” Shepard growled, straightening to posture his size,

“No one else had the balls to do what I did for you. For ALL of you!”

“Then do the right thing, general.” Gaz stated.

“All your intel on Makarov, and your boy Graves on a leash.” Gaz noticed Konig shift slightly at the mention of Graves.

“Say yes, you get a ride home.”

“Or take a little me time and freeze to death.” Ghost snarled,

“That’s the one I’m partial to.”

“Keep the prisoner focused on their own self-preservation and eventually they will break.” Gaz nodded.

“Good to see you remember training, general.”

“You screw me on this, and you’ll be sorry you kept me alive.”

“Let’s go.” Ghost got everyone on board, Gaz glancing at Konig oddly. Did Konig know Graves?

“General, what have you got?”

“Makarov aims to finish what he started in Verdansk.” Nikto stiffened, Konig putting a hand on his thigh. “He’s ordered Konni to strike the Gora Dam at nightfall.”

“That’ll wash away the whole city.” Soap breathed nervously. Konig added,

“And pin it on ULF if he follows his playbook.” Farah came through.

“You handle the dam. Alex and my soldiers tracked Konni to an airstrip in Northern Urzikstan. We think it’s Makarov’s forward operating base. I’ll be heading an assault there in the morning.” Soap asked gingerly,

“Your forces can’t go it alone.” Shepard frowned, replying,

“They won’t. Shadow will provide air support. Thought you were working with Graves?”

“Why the hell would we do that? We can’t let Graves rain fire danger close to Farah and her troops.”

“I trust Shadow.” Farah said stiffly. “I asked Graves to make sure you were all safe.” Soap frowned, Gaz looking over at Konig.

“Ja, we work under Phillip.” Konig said simply, as if that didn’t completely rock their world. Shepard said smugly,

“You told me to put Graves on a leash, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

“Keep it real short, General.” Ghost snarled.

“You really do want a win.”

“You’re damn right I do. How’s your ma-” Shepard was slammed against the wall, Konig snarling.

“Do NOT bring up mein mama, Kackbratze!” Soap shouted,

“Woah, woah, mate!” Shepard was instantly dropped, Konig’s shoulders shaking in pure fury.

“Du gehst mir auf den sack-Hurensohn!” Konig stormed off, Nikto still sitting in the helicopter. Kate said, shaken,

“Gaz, you and Nikto with go help Farah. Soap and Ghost take the dam. Horangi will deal with…what just happened.”

“Don’t get compromised. Keep your guard up and stay sharp. Good luck.”

Horangi gently set a hand on Konig’s shoulder. “It’s okay, it’s getting addressed.”

“I want his f*cking head splattered on the wall.” He half-growled as he tried to calm down.

“And he’d deserve it. Just a little while longer, and we’ll have it handled. It’s for Graves. It’ll be alright.”

“Will Nikto be okay?” He asked, hands twitching, itching to wrap around Shepard’s throat and just squeeze as hard as he could.

“Da.” Came the one-word answer. Konig nodded, rubbing his forehead at the migraine he was getting from exhausted stress.

2026, November 16^th: “Be advised, Konni personnel are grouping near multiple locations below you.” Soap mumbled,

“Protecting the target areas. Find a bomb, LT, and I’ll walk you through disarming.”

“Copy.” He found one in no time, Soap easily walking him through before saying,

“Watcher, got a problem. Found gas canisters in the water, still intact.”

“He’s going to poison the water supply by lacing the water.” Sick f*cker. Ghost kept moving.

“Get those canisters out of the water, Soap.” They disarmed and got out as fast as they could. Soap gripped Ghost’s leg.

“He was f*cking poisoning people.”

“Monsters in men’s clothing, Johnny.”

Chapter 63: ????, ????????

Chapter Text

??, ??: Nikto blinked. Where were they? What was happening? “…Konig?”

“Ja?” He was quiet. Konig was here: Nikto was on mission, then. But what mission were they on? Konig understood, speaking clearly in Turkish. “The target is Makarov and his base, Phillip Graves is on site. November 16^th.” Makarov…Makarov, yes, they remembered them. Russian terrorist, blew up a stadium in that awful sh*thole called Verdansk. They could see Graves coming forward, talking. Graves liked their words. Nikto didn’t like words. They didn’t like much of anything.

“We’re a go for precheck!” Graves smiled as they came forward meet with Nikto and the stranger beside them. They didn’t recall their name, but they had a clay scent. The one to the left was cotton, and the one to their left was avocado. They liked Graves’ scent of fog: encompassing, light but comforting. Graves laughed, raising a hand. “Yeah, we ready to rumble?” Graves shook the smaller one’s hand as they nodded.

“This is a joint operation. ULF, 141, and Shadow, together as one.” Nikto gave a curt nod in lieu of a handshake, and Clay didn’t react to the offered hand. Clay walked to the plane as Cotton said flatly (an attempted joke?),

“Together as one. You sure?” American, significant time in middle east. Was that where they were? Avocado said flatly,

“If we don’t, we lose. Who are you?” Arabic: born and raised in the middle east.

“Who we are is nothing. What we do is everything.” Nikto said flatly, joining with Graves.

“Bad day?” They stared at Graves. “Bad day. Sit up here. Here we go. Shadow to Gold Eagle, candle is lit.” Gold Eagle. That was a target. Graves put a hand on the shoulder as they tensed, body itching.

“Go get them, Shadow.” Nikto listened as Graves said easily,

“Ya’ll will be joining the ground team. I know ya’ll like targets.”

“Da.” Nikto didn’t recall anything but Graves’ voice and targets turning to corpses.

“You can run, but ya’ll will just die tired.” Graves was funny at times. Nikto…thought they liked that? The voices made it hard to tell. “Expect heavy contact, boys and girls.” Good. Nikto liked contact. “Nikto, Makarov is going to make a play for the chemicals. He’s a target, but the chemicals take priority: stay with Farah and Alex.” They scowled, but complied. “Enemy bird is down, Vladimir Makarov is KIA.”

“Body?” Nikto barked. Graves conceded,

“Verify-”

“Graves, once ground is clear, have your man drop a missile on that hanger. Bury Makarov and his f*cking chemicals.”

“General, we should verify there’s a body first-”

“He’s vapor.” Nikto checked the plane in silence. No blood splatter, no corpse. Makarov was not dead. They headed out with Farah and Alex, though Nikto wasn’t sure which was which. Avocados said briskly,

“Ground is clear.”

“Hanger’s down, that’s how we get her done, Shadows.” Nikto spoke Turkish.

“No body.”

“Copy that, Nikto, pull out with the rest. Dos Vadanya, Vladimir.” Graves said, Nikto barely catching the stiffness in the tone. Graves heard and understood. Gold Eagle was listening: they thought something was bad if Eagle understood. As Nikto headed out, Graves kept talking. “3 things you cannot outrun in this world, folks. Death, taxes, and me. Pleasure doing business with ya’ll. Actual, I’m RTB, out here.” Nikto rubbed the gloved wrist, enjoying the sharp agony that uncluttered their senses.

“Roger that, Shadow. That’s some big league work out there. Blue skies, son.”

“Appreciate the assist, Shadow.” Cotton stated. Avocados barked,

“Kilo to all stations, that kill is not confirmed. Repeat: kill is not confirmed. We need to search the site for PID on Makarov.”

“Gold Eagle to all stations. Your orders are to stand-” Nikto shattered their comms, scowling. Oh, sh*t, they shouldn’t have done that, should they have? No, that was not the right action. Avocados opened their radio.

“Go for Kilo.”

“It’s over, Farah.” That one was Farah. So Cotton was Alex. “We nailed that bastard to hell and gone. Send Nikto back to Graves.”

“We don’t take orders from birds.” Nikto snarled, Farah glancing at him in concern.

“We do not stop until we see a body. I left enemies alive before by making that mistake. I won’t do so again.”

“Makarov’s dead, Karim. Don’t let him live inside your head. Eagle out.” Farah shook their head.

“Shepard only sees what he wants.” Alex hummed in agreement.

“Name on a win, another medal on his chest. You, Karim?”

“It’s what I don’t see that worries me.” Clay stated,

“If he’s alive, he’ll let us know.” Alex nodded, scratching their neck to an irritating sound.

“Where and when is the question there, Gaz.” Gaz. That was Gaz. Okay…

Chapter 64: 2026, November 18th-21st

Chapter Text

2026, November 18^th: Konig scowled as he watched the hearing in the back, Nikto having a hand on his thigh and Horangi sitting casually on his shoulders. All to keep him still, he knew that much. The others were watching far closer up.

“Much has been said about the ULF. Are Farah Karim and her soldiers a terror organization?”

“No. Farah Karim is and always has been an ally to the United States and our Western partners in the region.” Konig felt Nikto’s grip lessen slightly, shifting to gripping his knee instead: less pliable.

“How did Commander Karim obtain American armaments?” Konig straightened.

“For nearly a decade, I sent weapons to Commander Karim to support her missions against Al-Qatala and Russian incursions into Urzikstan.” Horangi mumbled something in Korean, likely about the man being a cold-hearted snake.

“Were those shipments legal?”

“No. In order to save lives, I commissioned illegal shipments with funds I approved myself.”

“Quiet please. General Shepard, in October of 2022, did you authorize Shadow Company to fire on a task-force under your command in Las Almas, Mexico?” Gaz glanced behind him at Konig. Konig shifted anxiously.

“No, I did not.” Konig splintered the chair under him, biting his inner lip to stop a growl from ripping out. Nikto gave a low one regardless, though Horangi seemed unfazed.

“Mr. Graves, were you given orders to use lethal force against TF-141?” Konig could see a bead of sweat on Phillip’s face as he leaned forward to the microphone.

“Yes, I was.” Konig smiled warmly at the show of bravery. Horangi nodded in approval.

“Who gave you those orders?” Come on, Phillip. You can do it. His eyes darted around, Konig could see his pulse skyrocketing in fear. He took a deep breath and stated confidently,

“General Herschel Shepard.” Horangi whispered in Turkish,

“One lie amid the truths, and Graves will be okay.”

“Did you act on those orders, Mr. Graves?”

“No. Absolutely not, sir.” Gaz breathed out,

“f*ck me. They stabbed each other in the back.” Soap snarled,

“Still saving their own skins.” Konig almost snapped a reply, but Horangi covered his mouth.

“They don’t know, and we can’t tell them without him here.”

“Every man for himself.” Ghost mumbled. Farah stepped forward, Konig glancing at her.

“That’s the difference between us and them. Konig. Graves spoke highly of you. And this is Horangi and Nikto?” Konig nodded.

“We gonna let this stand? And you gonna let him lie?” Konig stood up.

“What happens to him is my business, not yours, Lieutenant. Do not threaten my people.” Ghost stared him down, but Konig wasn’t budging. Soap cleared his throat.

“Best way to end a war is to win it. Price says that all the time.” Farah nodded.

“No prisoners. Baba, please take me and Alex back, yes?”

“Straight away, daughter.” Comms cut through, Horangi handing Nikto a new set.

“MI6 is relaying waves of Konni chatter to us.”

“Bottom line it.”

“Konni’s in London.” Ghost called, gesturing in the air gruffly.

“Prep for exfil. We’re going home. Keep talking.” Soap asked, looking pale,

“Is Makarov alive?”

“There’s comms from a Czar 9-0.” Gaz stated flatly,

“His call sign. Why’s he in London, Kate?”

“Signal intelligence shows Konni’s meeting with a known black hat tomorrow in Greensbury Park.”

“A hacker?” Gaz asked with a frown. Ghost stated,

“That’s our mark. What do they want access to?”

“We need to find that out and stop it. The hacker can lead us to Makarov.”

“Konni’s in London, he can’t be far behind.” Gaz stated briskly as they took off, Price behind the wheel,

“I’ll coordinate with London Metro and get SFO standing by.” Ghost growled,

“I’ll plug into CCTV and be eyes. Johnny, tail the mark on the ground.”

“Aye.” Konig gestured to Horangi, who nodded. He’d be Soap’s backup, even if he didn’t want any help from the Shadow Company. “Makarov could be in our backyard. We get wind, we move.”

“For now, follow our mark and find him.”

2026, November 21^st: Soap didn’t like how easily Horangi was blending in. He’d tuned into the guy’s scent, and that was the only reason he kept finding him around. Konig and Nikto were nowhere to be seen, but Soap had a gut instinct they wouldn’t leave each other for long. Gaz spoke in his ear. “Roll easy. Konni may be watching too.” Soap hummed, looking around. He’d never been in London proper before. It reeked. Ghost said softly,

“Press up to Gaz, you’re good to go.” Soap raised a hand to Gaz with a smirk.

“Pinch a fa*g?”

“Smoking again, Johnny?” Gaz shook his head with a slight smirk.

“Fresh out, mate, sorry.”

“You’ll cough up a lung again.” Soap scoffed.

“Figures with the day I’m having. Thanks anyway, mate.”

“Target’s moving.” Soap budged closer slightly, hesitating at the dog. “Don’t like dogs, Soap?”

“G-good doggy?” He stuttered out, hands shaking as he tried to pet it. It was soft and didn’t try to bite him. “Good doggy.”

“Over her head with Makarov.” Gaz mumbled. Soap paused, taking pictures of a statue or some guy covered in silver paint (he couldn’t tell), and listened. She then kept walking.

“Dead drop of a flash drive: alley between Bistro 43 and Tea Café.”

“Ghost?”

“Working on it. From Manc, not London. Konni picked it up, entered Pedestrian tunnel. No contact from there.”

“Tunnel’s a dead end: good place to hide.” Gaz stated. “Metro and SFO are ready. Say we call them in.”

“Copy. All stations, gear up and prepare to breech.” Soap glanced over at Horangi.

“The f*ck are you following us for?”

“Mission’s not over, my friend. Makarov is still alive.” Soap scowled, but he couldn’t stop them. Price gestured to everyone, Soap instantly translating,

“Cap says his throat was injured, but he’ll be taking point. Let’s get this done.”

“Breach in 3, 2, 1-Execute!” Soap stated,

“Kate, we’re inside. Clearing now.” It was a bloody mess, even with all of them. He lost track of Horangi less than a minute in, unsure where the Korean liar went. Well, he hadn’t lied directly: none of them had asked who they were working for. But if they’d been working for Graves, it still felt like a f*cking lie. Price gestured to a computer, Roach beside him in a second typing away. “Flashdrive acquired. Whatever was on it uploading into the station’s train network. Translating for Roach now: Trojan horse program. Konni has control of the trains.”

“Face recognition found this. Makarov boarded 10 minutes ago.”

“Train full of hostages.” Ghost’s voice was almost normal, but with a twinge of a hiss.

“Victims. Tunnel’s 150 meters deep and 50 kilometers long. Thousands down there at any point.”

“He’s going to trap the trains, destroy the tunnel.” Soap breathed, feeling sick.

“We have no proof, but Makarov’s train just stopped at a cross over platform 32 kilometers in.”

“SFOs sending a second team.” Soap mumbled,

“We need all the help we can get.”

“We’ll take the service tunnel. Cap says move: we may be too late now.”

Ghost first noticed a nonmilitary vehicle was in the tunnel right where they stopped, the scent of the water clogging his nose. Gaz was applying blocker and trying not to gag. “Captain Price. At your service-” Soap called quickly, Roach scuttling along the edges of the tunnel,

“Cap’s throat’s f*cked. He needs half your men with LT, rest with him!” Price locked eyes with all of them, signing deliberately,

‘Stay close, follow orders. Get on those doors.’ Soap called over comms,

“Watcher, we’re on the X, going for Makarov. Unidentified vehicle was in the service tunnel.”

“Solid copy. No sign of KorTac. Go get them, boys.” Soap whispered,

“This bastard won’t go down easy.” Price signed with a grin,

‘Neither will we, sunshine.’ Soap went back to translating as they went deeper into the tunnels.

“Watcher, if Makarov’s controlling the trains, can we regain access?”

“Attempting to breach their firewall. That hacker was good: Roach is heading to a terminal for a direct access line.”

“Helping a mad bastard for money.” He mumbled.

“Konni’s got hostages, working on it!” Ghost barked. Soap stated,

“At the crossroads now, Watcher.”

“Makarov’s last known position, stay sharp.” The trains were deafening, more so than the gunfire. He was used to the gunfire: the trains were a lot. Soap snapped,

“Ghost, troops in contact, what’s your position?!”

“Pushing up the train tunnel, wounded civilians.”

“Multiple hostages, too.” Gaz added.

“Moving ahead: Makarov’s close.” Soap lived for the adrenaline, the rush of danger. But this was pushing that to the limit.

“Pinned down, Konni’s pressing hard.” Gaz stated just as Soap saw it.

“sh*te-Konni’s guarding a bomb. Cap says secure the perimeter, I’m on the bomb! 2 minutes, sir. Bravo, Bomb is located in crossover platform: need cover and focus-this sh*te’s the complicated one.”

“Pushing your way!” Gaz barked for once, Price breathing heavily as he tried to catch his breath.

“Cap, I need 4 hands over here. Get a snake cam. C4 and radioactive. Need the logo.”

‘B-E-A-R.’

“Bear?” Price gave a thumbs up. “Copy, cutting wire.”

“Price, be advised, Makarov is in the chunnel, heading your way!”

“Heard, can’t leave the bomb, LT-f*ck!” Soap yelped, jerking his free hand while keeping his other as still as possible: it was elbow deep in a damn dirty bomb. “It’ll blow if I let go, cap-Need suppressive fire here! f*ck!” Soap bit back the tears of agony as the bullet was lodged somewhere and seemed to be moving. sh*te, that hurt, but he couldn’t move. “Police are KIA…need-the blasting cap, bottom left hand…serial number. Need it.” Soap felt like he had in Las Almas, but ignored it. The bomb needed to be defused. “2-there’s 2 fuses. Cut them at the same time, r-red-” He looked up to see Makarov with a gun aimed right at him, eyes widening in fear as the trigger was pulled-he felt it dig into his neck as a black blur tried to wrest the gun away, getting into a fist fight without a weapon on him, Soap breathing weakly as his free hand gripped his neck to try and staunch the bleeding. “S-sh*te-” Soap saw Price getting shot and grabbed at Makarov blindly with his hand as blood drained down his neck like a river-he screamed in agony as his arm felt as if it would get ripped off, but he kept his other arm steady as metal dug into his shoulder-He felt his arm dislocate, but there was no pain.

“Johnny!” He didn’t recognize the voice, vision blurring as he kept his hand steady.

“R-red wire-gotta cut it same time.” He slurred out weakly as the colors faded away.

Chapter 65: 2026, November

Chapter Text

Konig ripped the gun away from the terrorist, followed accidentally his hand. Makarov got away. “Konig!” He looked over-that was a f*ck-ton of blood. He was next to the injured man in a second. He spoke Turkish rapidly, knowing Horangi and Nikto could understand him,

“He needs a tourniquet and medical evac: the heart is still beating. Is the bomb neutralized?” He didn’t have the mental energy to translate the English as he pulled off the tactical vest to help Soap breathe easier.

“Yes, and all enemies are dead.” He snapped,

“Tell Ghost to hold his neck as tightly as possible: his artery was nicked and I will crush his neck. His arm is in rough shape, I need a rope.” Price handed him one, Ghost complying with shaking fingers. “sh*t, motherf*cker got away. EMTs?”

“3 minutes out.”

“I will meet them, then.” Konig scooped up Soap and Ghost into his arms and shot off. Price stared after him. Horangi waved.

“He’s taking them to the hospital. They’re in good hands. Sorry for following you, but we still have our mission. Nikto?” The Russian looked at the bomb, mumbling in Russian (f*cking Nova 6).

“You know what Nova 6-ACK!” Price gagged, coughing up a lung. Nikto looked at him with a head tilt, then turned to Horangi. He smiled under his mask as he spoke Turkish.

“Let’s go get our flying target, Eo?” Nikto nodded, body loosening.

2026, November 24^th: Price looked up at the knock, Ghost staring off. They didn’t know how Soap was other than he was still critical. Gaz looked out of the peep hole. “It’s Konig.” Price sighed, standing up and signing as his throat felt as if someone had rubbed it raw. He could at least breathe without pain now, so silver lining. He stepped outside, the former colonel holding a box. ‘What do you want?’ Konig signed back,

‘To apologize. We should have told you we work under Phillip.’

‘Past tense. He’s in prison for treason.’ Konig wasn’t making eye contact, focusing on Price’s hands.

‘My friends’ trust is not blind.’ He set the box down, opening it to show there was no bomb. ‘This is everything we have on Shepard, Phillip, Nova 6, and Makarov. If you are willing to work with us again, call that number. It’s a burn phone: you won’t get a location.’ Price studied the apex for several minutes. He wasn’t lying, or bluffing. It was all matter of fact. Price gave a nod.

‘We’ll look.’ Konig gave a nod and walked away. Price coughed, Konig glancing back. ‘Where’s your 2 friends?’

“Busy, Herr Price. Very busy.” He kept walking. It was that night Price snuck into Shepard’s office, waiting in the corner for him to come in at night. He watched as Shepard came in, waiting for him to sit and take a deep breath. Shepard froze, looking at Price.

“…John.”

“General.” Shepard looked annoyed, then sighed.

“How did you get in here?”

“Mutual friend.”

“Laswell.” He sighed. Price grabbed his gun at the hand movement, Shepard stopping as he stepped forward. “You’re better than this, Cap.” Price grunted, saying softly,

“We both were. Until you hurt my kids.”

“This job is about making sacrifices for the greater good.” Price considered this.

“Agreed.” Shepard continued,

“You got a body count of your own, John.” He raised the silenced gun. “It’ll come back to haunt you. I am not going to beg for my life. Not from you or anybody else, Cap.” Price said flatly, priming the gun,

“Wouldn’t do you any good.” The body dropped. Price blinked; gun unmoving. He hadn’t pulled the trigger. What-

“Jal jasseoyo, Captain Price?” No f*cking way. He looked at the small bullet hole cracking the window. He couldn’t see Horangi, but he could hear him in his comms. “One target down. I hope Soap makes a full recovery. Meeting in more pleasant circ*mstances would be fun.” His comms buzzed with silence, and he left the room, heart pounding.

Phillip sighed as he talked on the phone call. “Hey, Oz.”

“Hey, boss. Retiring early?”

“You could say that.” He mumbled, rubbing his head. He knew he’d spend the rest of his life in prison after Shepard got his sister’s ID into the public. “Remember our deal?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll take good care of KorTac, Graves, all 4 of us will. You alright?” He glanced up as the lights flickered.

“…Yeah, I will be. Thanks, Oz. For everything.”

“No worries, sir. Take good care of the big guy, will you? He’s a rabbit with the body of a crocodile.” Graves scoffed.

“You boys completely misread him every time. He’s gentle with friends. Heaven couldn’t save someone from him.”

“How likely is this to blow back on KorTac?”

“Low if I’m not involved. Just keep KorTac’s sh*t clean. No more grey area. Do what you’re paid for and keep your ass clean.”

“Underst-” The call cut out with the power, and Graves cracked his neck. Who came for him-he stared at the blue eyes on black canvas, then smiled, offering a hand. The near-silent Russian took it and lead him away through violent corridors.

Chapter 66: ???? ????????

Chapter Text

??, ??: Nikto threw the glass to hear the shatter, to stop the voices. But it didn’t stop. They never stopped, MAKE THEM STOP! They needed fire-They needed PAIN-they needed the voices to stop-they felt someone grab their hands. “Look at me!” Their breath was hardened, uneven, eyes unfocused. They couldn’t see them, couldn’t hear them. The voices were so loud-pressure. Their hands were wrapped around Nikto’s head, almost crushing the skull as scars burned with fire, lungs blistering from their scent. Painful. Comforting. Calming. They felt their body loosen, going slack as they could hear noises beyond the voices, pressure increasing. Nikto tried to recall what had happened. The voices grew louder instantly, and

they pressed their mask deeper into the body’s flesh. Warm. Surrounding. Ripping apart and healing them all at once.

“Don’t let go.” Nikto half snapped and half begged.

“Okay.” Fingers started dancing over their shoulder, the remains of their scent gland that could never work again from the acid, the knives, the glorious agony that was so peaceful. The pressure was beautiful, soothing. Claws dancing along the wounds they had always had yet were so new they forgot were there. They covered their eyes that weren’t their own, lungs in a foreign body that ached with their own, familiar pain. The weight of a corpse that didn’t belong to them, the beat of a heart that burned with an ache at each pulse. They could feel every inch of this body that didn’t belong to them, and could not move, spirit tethered in a world that rejected the very existence of their being. “A broken man feeling comfort from a broken man.”

“Not a man.” They mumbled; eyes unfocused but ears sharp. Their senses were always their own, even if the body was never right. Brown eyes looked down at they. Nikto should remember their name. They couldn’t.

“What are you, then?”

“Corpse.” The brown eyes hardened slightly, and the pressure increased along the skull.

“You are not a corpse, Nikto. Merely broken beyond repair. Being broken is…painful. But I want to survive it. I want to live, because broken pieces make the most beautiful art. Do you?” Nikto considered it.

“…Do we?” The brown eyes softened at their genuine question.

“You should. We will survive it together, Eo?” Nikto slowly closed the eyes of this body, head swimming.

“We sink deeper when we think. Just give us target, Da? Targets are simple. Only targets.” They felt something press against the mask covering the face not their own gently, then heard,

“You will get targets in the morning. For now, sleep.” Nikto let the body ease into the darkness of the pit in their mind. Perhaps they would wake up in their body this time…Nikto mumbled,

“Can we be monster if not corpse?”

“Yes, that one you can be.” They smiled softly as sleep claimed their mind at last.

Chapter 67: 2026, Christmas

Chapter Text

2026, December 24th: Konig entered the abandoned building they were squatting in for now: he needed the search for the prison escapee in Phillip to die down before they started looking into places to actually live-he paused at seeing Nikto half-crushing Horangi, both of them asleep. He checked the date. December 24^th. Phillip was rocking himself in the corner, looking at Konig with a pensive look. “You think they read all that?”

“If they or did not, we did our best. Have you eaten?” Phillip shook his head.

“Too stressed, big guy. Nikto had a…really bad day. Kim calmed him down, but it was not pretty.” Konig took in the array of destruction of glass and multiple stabs from Nikto’s knife into fabrics and the wall, then nodded, sitting between Phillip and the sleeping pair. Nikto usually had a really bad episode before his heat. Konig would have to find something to build a nest with here and wait it out. “sh*t, I f*cked up so bad.” Konig nodded. He wasn’t going to lie and say Phillip didn’t: they both knew the truth. “What am I supposed to do, I-oh, sh*t…” Phillip gripped his head. “I don’t know what to do, pa-K-Konig.” He corrected instantly. Konig didn’t care either way, frankly: he’d been called a fatherly term more times than he’d care to admit in the service. There came a point it didn’t faze you anymore. “Ya’ll are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I f*cked it all up.” Konig set a hand on his shoulder, gesturing to Nikto and Horangi.

“They got f*cked up before you ever heard of them. And I’m too old to care.” Life in prison isn’t scary to someone who is 62, and he wasn’t scared of death, either. But these men, half his age with the weight of a thousand years on their shoulders? He was scared they would die alone, feeling as though they didn’t matter. Phillip was gripping his face, hands shaking. Konig shifted to where he could press against him, heavy arm resting over his shoulders. “You can cry, Phillip. You survived.”

“I can’t. Gotta be strong.” He choked out. Konig slammed him into his chest, squeezing him semi-tightly.

“Cry if you want to. I’m here to be strong for you.”

2026, December 25^th: Ghost froze at the entrance to the hospital, gritting his teeth. He was visiting Johnny. He had woken up, and Ghost had barely heard over the thrum of voices inside his room that he’d wanted to see Ghost. “Don’t worry, I’ll be alone when you can come!” Johnny hadn’t known what day it was. He hadn’t known it was Christmas.

“Sir?” He jerked, looking at the smiling nurse. She knew him decently well: he was the one that hung back from coming inside when the rest of his pack came in, never going farther than the waiting room. “Are you here to see Soap MacTavish?” He nodded jerkily. “Do you want a guide to his room?” He shook his head. 209 was his room. Had a window to the alley. He watched it at night, hoping he would wake up. He set his shoulders and went up the stairs, finding the room quickly. He recognized some of the people there from his family. Anne, Josiah, and Julia. One of Soap’s aunts (mother of Iris) and his parents. Iris was likely here as well, then: Anne couldn’t drive anymore due to glaucoma damage.

“Do you need something?”

“Mum, please, I’m fine.” His voice was weak, but functional. No permanent throat injury.

“You’re missing a bloody arm, you aren’t fine!” Josiah snapped. Ghost blinked. He didn’t know that Soap had to have an arm amputated. Soap corrected,

“It’s a f*cking hand, not an arm. Dirty bomb, what’d you expect?”

“Maybe the runt to be more careful?!” Julia exploded, Ghost hovering awkwardly as she berated him for being ‘careless’ and ‘not strong enough to join the army’. Oh. Ghost suddenly understood why Soap didn’t talk about his family very often. Someone was behind him: lemon and sage scent, alpha. He stayed to the side to let him in.

“Who are you?” Ghost glanced. Ah, that was Iris. The harsh eyes softened when he saw the baclava’s markings. “You’re Ghost.” He gave a nod, Iris chuckling. “Soap talks about you all the time, the masked LT with pretty eyes.” Ghost blinked slowly. Soap thought he had pretty eyes? “Mum, we should head out. Soap’s packmate’s here.” Ghost locked eyes with Julia, who froze at the sight of a man in a black skull mask. Johnny’s eyes lit up.

“LT!” Josiah whirled.

“The omega that ranks higher than you?”

“Aye.” Soap mumbled, looking embarrassed briefly. Iris said flatly,

“There’s plenty of omegas that rank higher than me, uncle, and Ghost is one of the best. Happy Christmas, Soap, let’s go.” He ushered the other 3 out as fast as he could, Soap mumbling as he looked down,

“Sorry, me family’s stuck in the 1900s.”

“They’re not you, Johnny. I don’t care. Glad you’re okay.”

“Um, heard he got away?”

“With a gunshot in his ribs.” Ghost said flatly. Soap nodded as Ghost took a seat next to the bed, offering his hand. “…Thought I lost you.” Soap chuckled nervously.

“Thought you did, too. Shot in the neck hurts like a bitch, and the bullet in the arm got caught in a vein: kept getting pushed closer to me heart. Hostages?” Ghost nodded.

“Cleared out. Some got burns and bullets, but light injuries and few deaths considering. Price is fine now: raspy, but talking without pain. I-we were worried sick about you.” Ghost chose not to mention his own bullet graze: it wasn’t a major injury.

“Who got the bomb?”

“You, Johnny. Stayed alert long enough to cut the wire with Gaz.” Johnny whistled, leaning back.

“Don’t remember that.”

“Lost a lot of blood: memory being foggy is reasonable.”

“Every drop counts, aye?” Ghost nodded at Soap’s weak joke, setting his hand on Soap’s bandaged stump of a wrist. “Cut it off: too much radiation exposure. Favorite hand, too, but at least it’s not my writing hand.”

“Favorite’s not your writing hand?”

“No, I ate with that one.” Ghost scoffed. Soap smiled back. “I like your laugh, LT.” Ghost stiffened, then pressed his face into the bed. Maybe if he couldn’t see Johnny, this would be easier to say.

“…I like your smile. Your eyes crinkle, and the dimples are cute.” Soap laughed, Ghost swearing to whatever didn’t hate him in the sky to give him strength. “…Wanted to talk, Johnny.”

“Aye?” Ghost pushed himself up, taking a steadying breath. He had to say it, Soap deserved the truth. He deserved to know why Ghost spent so much time with him. He stared for he didn’t even know how long before Johnny joked, “Err, to talk, LT, requires exhaling while moving your mouth.”

“Dumbass.” He grumbled softly, only for Soap to giggle out,

“There you go.” He shook his head. Why was he so sh*t at emotions?

“…you ever have trouble figuring out how you feel about things?” Johnny nodded.

“Aye, all the time.” Good, related. Next step was…

“I’ve been working on figuring out my thoughts on you.”

“All you had to do was ask. It’s mostly annoyance.” Ghost sighed.

“No, Johnny. I’m in love with you. And not like packmates.” Johnny’s eyes dilated, and he sat up.

“Oh. Uh, LT, I’m flattered, and y-you’re a handsome f*cker-have to be blind to think otherwise, b-but…” Ghost waited for him to figure out what he was trying to say. “I’m not…good.” Not good? Ghost raised an eyebrow.

“You seriously telling ME that YOU’RE not good?” Johnny flushed, looking like a hot mess.

“N-not what I meant, not like that-well, kind of like that-” Ghost gripped his wrist’s stump.

“Deep breath, Johnny. I’m not going anywhere until you can get it out, so take your time.” Johnny nodded, hand gripping his shoulder tightly as he opened and closed his mouth a few times.

“I’m not…not a good alpha.” What? Ghost’s eyes narrowed as Soap dropped eye contact, muttering, “I’m not strong, or big in any form of the word, I panic easy, and I ain’t leader quality, and I’m not calm even with military training, and-and I’m not good, Simon.” He was crying silently, Ghost still holding his stump gently even as his body tensed at that name. “…you’re everything to me, mate. I want to be good enough, but I’m just not. And I never will be…” Ghost nodded. So it wasn’t that he didn’t feel the same: he just felt like he didn’t deserve Ghost. Which was something Ghost found incredibly ironic. Good enough for GHOST of all people? GHOST, really? He gently patted Soap’s arm.

“Be right back, mate.” He closed the blinds into the room, checking for enemies on instinct alone. Nothing. He then sat back down, settling in before touching the hem of his mask. He took a deep breath, and pulled it off, feeling disgustingly exposed. “Johnny, can you look at me?” He slowly did, tears still falling.

“Y-your mask?” Soap choked out, sitting up in surprise to get closer.

“Need you to see my face for this. I’m not everything. I’m…a sh*t omega. Huge, no nurturing instinct. Constantly fight my brain fogging up and turning me feral. I’m calm because panic was beat out of me repeatedly. It took me this long to say anything because…you deserve so much more than I can give you.” He pressed Johnny’s stump against his cheek, closing his eyes. “I’m cruel and cold and barely function anymore. I break everything I touch. You get close to me; I’ll shatter your heart. But for once, I want to be selfish and keep you with me forever, if you’ll let me.”

“Simon, I’m never going to be good enough. You deserve-”

“I don’t care about what you think I deserve. I just want you. You’re already good enough for me. You always were.” Soap choked out a sob, ramming his skull into Ghost’s neck. Ghost awkwardly wrapped his arms around his waist loosely. He didn’t need an answer or an ‘I love you, too.’ He just needed Johnny here with him right now as ‘Frosty the Snowman’ played…