#11 swords | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

socially-awkward-skeleton · 7 months

Text

All Along the Watchtower (Chapter 11)

[Can also be read on AO3]

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!OC (3rd person POV)

Word count: 5.2 K

Warnings: Minors DNI - No major warnings this chapter. smoking, swearing, British slang, relationship drama and personal angst. Also, some emotional manipulation from Price because he's like that

Summary:

They've kissed, what the hell do they do now?

Rory and Price deal with the giant elephant in the room and it does not go smoothly

A/N: Rory Sinclair is a dual citizen (both Canada and the UK) who's been living in the UK since she was 14. She is 28 at the time of this fic, Price is 32. This series is set in 2017 before the events of the first MW game. Rory's thoughts are bold and italicized, other italics are used for emphasis

(starting the tag list late with this fic sorry)

taglist: @carlosoliveiraa @cassietrn @finding-comfort-in-rain @justasmolbard @cloudofbutterflies92 @amalkavian @inafieldofdaisies @aceghosts @marivenah @v01dthefae @clicheantagonist @statichvm @josephseedismyfather @la-grosse-patate @peachiicherries @strangefable @nightbloodbix @theelderhazelnut

The steam curled out from around the door, misty vapor pouring across the floor and floating up through the opened window into the frosty night. Stepping out of the bathroom, the cool air hit her and goosebumps speckled her still damp skin. Her hair dripped, trails of water rolling down her chest and past the edge of the towel wrapped around her, the bruises on her face and neck steadily growing more visible with all the blood removed. Price’s gaze fell on her, lifting from the tablet he’d been trying to focus his attention on. His eyes lingered just a little too long, only to quickly rush back down to the screen in his lap as her stare – marred by sore, red rings under her eyes – fell upon him.

Rory held the towel around her and moved to the foot of her bed to take a seat, sinking into the mattress as heavy as a rock. Beads of water trailed down her shoulders and back as she slipped her panties up her legs and under the terry cloth wrapped around her. Looking back at him from over her heavily bruised shoulder, she shook her head as she lifted her hips. “You know, you don’t have to look at me like I’m entirely fragile.”

“I’m not.” His voice was deep, made heavier by the nearly oppressive weight that hung in the room.

“Is that so?”

Sighing, she moved to the side of the bed and pulled back the covers, climbing in under them and tossing the damp towel to the foot of her bed. Rolling over so her back was turned to him, the sheets clung to her still damp skin as she looked out the window at the hint of the city skyline and the twinkling lights that cut through the darkness. She tried to shut her eyes, to keep her breathing slow and steady, even as her throat continued to sting and scratch, but it did little good. The adrenaline might have drained from her system, but that sense of fear still remained. What had happened, even with the shower washing away the last reminders of it, wouldn’t leave her. The taste of blood, the metallic tang, remained in her mouth no matter how many times she brushed her teeth – though that may have been her own bleeding gums at this point. The feeling of hands around her throat, the sensation of choking, fighting for her last gasps haunted each and every rasping breath she still took. The vision of dark eyes staring into hers with no remorse, belonging to a man who had taken lives before and had never let it hinder his mind, if he even had a conscience to begin with. She had never felt so weak, so powerless in all her life. She had always overcome everything that crossed her path. Every loss, every obstacle she managed to power through. A determined woman who stopped at nothing in her career, doing the things others wouldn’t to get the job done. Yet tonight she almost died. Too confident in her own abilities.

The neon light from the sign outside the window flashed through the thin skin of her eyelids and it made her stomach twist. Squeezing her eyes shut tighter, the phosphenes danced in a bath of red. Her fingers gripping at the cool material of the pillowcase her head rested upon. Somewhere, right now, Zorokov was in a hospital bed getting treatment. Patched up, left with a physical scar as a reminder of what happened when he tried to kill a special forces soldier with his bare hands. She, on the other hand, would have to live with the near-death experience in silence. The bruises would fade, her throat would stop aching, but the memories would live on forever. Trapped inside to swirl within the walls of her skull until the moment of her last breath. God, she wished she went with a better choice of words.

Her breath shook as she swallowed back the wave of anger that simmered through her. It was as if she was going through the stages of grief all within the confines of her safehouse bed. The turmoil of having to deal with people’s reactions to what she had been through crawled into the back of her head, knowing there would be yet more therapy for her after the Captain’s mission report was complete. Pity. Remorse . A look people gave that she hadn’t been able to escape since she was fourteen years old at her mother’s funeral. Told over and over again how she had everyone’s condolences. Forced to recall how everyone would look at her as two stereotypes in one: the sad, little rich girl and the broken soldier. Add on top of all that the swell of embarrassment that infected her, dreading the coming conversation the next morning, having to face the fact she had made a move on Price like nothing at all had happened that night. Hell, maybe it was just the stress. She certainly hadn’t been acting like herself since the start of this mission. What was it about him that made her stop thinking clearly and act so impulsively?

A bundle of raw nerves, exposed, stinging with the slightest touches of air. Pulling the covers up tighter over her shoulder, keeping the night air off her, she tried to bury herself under the blankets, staving off the darkness that wanted to settle upon her – what little good it did. The shivering didn’t seem to want to stop, a trembling that had moved past just her hand and arm and now shook her entire body. Suffering in self-imposed isolation. No one wanted to know the things that hurt her inside, not when she could carry on, slap a smile on her face and pretend she was alright while burying herself in work. That was the Rory Sinclair way and it had gotten her this far. Why fix what wasn’t broken? Or maybe she was just too broken to fix.

Price couldn’t help but watch her. Laying across from him, only feet away. That protective instinct kicking in like she was his to look after. He had fallen for the ‘Lamb’ and was suddenly treating himself like the sheepdog who needed to keep her safe from the wolves – despite how she belonged right along with them. Every part of him begged to wrap around her, to shield her, and remind her she wasn’t alone. But his mind, the logical and sound part of him, the part that controlled every muscle in his body, restricted him to his own bed, refusing to allow his emotions to override its authority. He was a captain, goddammit, he couldn’t just give in to his desire like that. Didn’t change the fact that it was a special kind of torture having to stand by and watch her shoulders lift and fall with each breath, every little shift of her head against the pillow as she tried to settle squeezing at his gut. Trying to sleep off what had happened like it was a bad hangover, closing off from what had actually happened to her. She didn’t have to act like it was nothing, that she was perfectly fine. He would understand if she needed the release. He had seen soldiers go through horrible things, left changed by it, waking up in cold sweats either reminded of a friend they lost in a battle or one of the many things they had been forced to do in the line of duty – innocent lives they couldn’t protect, those they had to let fall by the wayside to save others. It was never an easy thing to move past and he was aware she had already carried a burden on her shoulders and in her head.

He needed her to trust him, to rely on him, to know that he would never let any harm befall her like this again. It was only right. This was his mission to lead, it would be a failing to let her fall prey to the viciousness of the world. Someone soft like her needed to be guarded, lest she be broken entirely.

Placing the tablet on the table beside him, he slowly pulled away from his bed. His brain rapidly fired at him every reason why he should stop, turn around and just go to sleep. How the mission was more important. How she would pull through. Redirecting his thoughts to the moral dilemma of it all as her superior officer. How getting close to her was wrong, how it was dangerous, how it could be the downfall of his entire career – but none of that much mattered to him now, not as he drew nearer to her bed. There was a small portion of the double she was resting in left available, the cold shoulder of the mattress, an empty spot begging to be filled by his warm body. Biting his lip, he ran through a list of pros and cons of his next move and then made the snap judgement to lay on the bed beside her.

She tensed as he got close, going as rigid as she had when he had first found her. Rory was as stiff as a board as his arm wrapped over her, pulling her into him as his broad body curled around her. Finally, allowing herself to settle against the curve of him, a quiet sigh was breathed out into the room. “Thought you said we’d leave this for the morning?”

He knew he was sending her every mixed signal, confusing the poor woman when she was still coming to terms with what had happened, but he couldn’t help himself. The sound of her strained breathing in his ear, the gasps and groans over the comms, they replayed over and over again in his head like a haunting song. He hadn’t realized just how much it had affected him all the same. He had dealt with fear and stress, listened to the wails of people in pain, those last gasps of someone’s dying breaths, but hearing her fighting for life cut through deeper than any of those sounds ever could.

“Maybe I’m not quite ready to do that.”

Tugging her arm free of the blankets, her hand trailed down the length of his forearm until she met his hand, lacing his fingers with hers. Her touch was so light it was barely there at all as her fingertips grazed over him. He had forgotten just how smooth and slender she was, how soft her skin felt. Looking down at their entwined hands, he noticed how his seemed to swallow the entirety of hers as he held it tight, fitting together perfectly. Rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand, feeling all the little tendons that she used to precisely control her weapons, he lowered his head and pressed his nose into her hair, nuzzling against her, choking back a soft groan. Being beside her was no longer enough for him, he needed more. He craved her.

Turning over in bed to face him, her eyes rolled slowly up to stare at him, deep and dark in the night, doe-like as she looked up at him through her lashes. Her hand trailing back up his arm, then over his shoulder, and cradling his face in her palm. So gentle, maybe more than a man like him deserved, certainly more than he expected from a woman who clawed herself to safety. He couldn’t help but lean into her touch, his forehead pressed to hers. “I know we shouldn’t,” he spoke in a quiet husky whisper. “We could both lose everythin’, but –”

Rory’s fingertips drifted through the whiskers on his jaw, until her thumb rested over his lips. Silencing him. She pressed her head to his chest, under his chin, and she didn’t move, simply resting there. “That's just the guilt talking.” Her voice was still hoarse, raspy and low.

Brow furrowing, the lines in his face grew as deep as the pit in his stomach. It wasn't that, he was sure of it. Positive. It was her . He wanted her. His hand came to the back of her neck, giving it a tender squeeze. Protective . “I wish I'd been there to make that bastard pay. Hearin’ that fear in your voice…I wanted to tear him limb from limb,'' he growled.

She sighed. “Didn't think I could defend myself, huh?”

Price exhaled slow and deep, his breath fanning through her chestnut hair. He would never admit that. She didn’t deserve to be questioned like that; her skills disregarded. She was a soldier; a veteran like him. But there was still that nagging part of him that just wanted to keep her safe at all costs. “You’re under my command. ’S my job to keep you alive.”

Shaking her head, she huffed out a laugh. “Do you also cuddle up to everyone under your command?”

He lifted his brow and looked down at her, a small smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. “That one seems to be reserved solely for you, love.”

Her eyes widened. Dark, puffy circles gave her raccoon eyes as she looked up at him. “ Love ? That’s not exactly professional.”

“No, ’s not.”

With an exasperated sigh, she ran a hand down her face and muttered under her breath, “This is such a fucking mess.”

She was right. It was. They had gotten attached. Rules were bending. He had already broken protocol by taking command of an SRR operator and letting her march herself into the middle of a lion’s den. He had made this all personal after promising he wouldn’t let their past compromise the work. It should have been easy to just cut himself off, to not get tied up in whatever he was feeling – he did it with everything else – but he couldn’t justify doing it with her.

“I know this isn’t perfect. ’S hardly some fuckin’ Hollywood romance, but the thought of losin’ you …couldn’t live with it.”

Rory went quiet for too long, silence cast over the room like being in the eye of a storm and he had no shelter to hide in. Left out in the open, vulnerable to attack. His heartbeat started to pick up.

“If I hadn’t already dealt with him, you would have killed Zorokov.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement, as if she already knew the answer.

His jaw clenched, flexing all the little tendons in his neck, his nose scrunching as he pursed his lips slightly. Christ, this was the last thing he needed . A low growl emanated from deep in his chest and up to his throat. “I would’ve done it ‘cause he fuckin’ deserved it.”

“Because he hurt me?”

He sighed again, brushing his fingers through the soft, slowly drying hair that had begun to form tousled waves. “Yeah, Rory, ‘cause he hurt you.”

A gentle smile pulled at the corners of her lips, the first time he’d properly seen her smile in hours and his whole heart seemed to melt at the sight. She was goddamn beautiful .

“You know that goes beyond what a CO is supposed to feel for one of his soldiers, yeah?” She looked up at him, pulling the blanket tighter to her chest. “That if the brass heard that they’d strip you of everything?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, his eyes lifting to look at the ceiling. “I know.”

“I’m not worth it, John. I can promise you that.”

He curled his fingers under her chin, lifting her eyes to meet his. “Why don’t you leave that up to the Captain to decide, eh?” He pulled her in closer to him, letting her head rest against his chest once more as he leaned down and pressed his chin to the top of her head.

This was better. This was how it was supposed to be. Nothing could hurt her now, not with him around…

… This was all moving faster than he could control …

He was making a decision for himself that could have long lasting and dire effects. And yet, it was the mere thought of her pain earlier that night that made him feel entirely justified in doing this. She could have died. It was a very probable outcome that might have been a reality if she hadn’t fought for her life. Hearing that rasp in her voice only made the sounds of her choked noises replay in his head once more. She needed him. He needed her . Damn the consequences.

Sometime in the middle of the night, after resting up against the almost too calmly beating heart of Price, listening to his god-awful loud snoring, her eyes had finally shut. Falling asleep, giving into what her body needed desperately. Rest.

Peace.

Wrapped in his arms – the arms of her Captain, her superior – she had somehow found a safe haven after all she had been through. The nightmares still came, she still kicked out in her sleep, tossing and turning under the covers, the cold sweat dampening her skin and the sheets, but then strong arms would circle around her, pulling her towards him again while half asleep. Body heat reminded her that it was all over, that she wasn’t alone, and in this state, she gave in, stopped fighting – submitted.

It was hauntingly quiet, in the room and outside. like waking up in a fog, the noise was blanketed. Even the thoughts in her head had paused their neurotic rotations. Outside the window, the dark of night had passed and the lights of the windows had all gone out. It was just dim and gray, lifeless. Her hopelessness from the night before seemingly permeated the very world around her, seeping out into the sky and the ground, turning the coming dawn barren.

Each little movement of hers caused Price’s mustache to twitch and she found herself simply watching him as she lay pressed against his rigid form of muscle. Waking up in the same bed as the man who gave her orders, who was responsible for the success of the mission she had been selected for, who had left her alone in that bathroom stall after they had agreed to a one-time thing and parted ways was an odd sensation. Yet here she was, spooned up against him as if they had been lovers for years. Strangely intimate, yet wildly awkward. A walk of shame would likely have been easier on her heart and on her head. This was radically out of her comfort zone.

She pulled away as he continued to sleep, trying her best to free herself of the big bear hug of Captain John Price, and the near sweltering heat she felt as guilt and nerves all started to twist at her for what she had done. There wasn’t even sex involved this time. It was more innocent than that and yet the weight of her actions was more vividly clear. This was more dangerous. This was vulnerability. This was feelings and emotions and trust, and it was something she wasn’t so sure she was ready to give or even offer someone. Least of all, someone whose entire life might be upheaved along with hers if they gave into whatever it was that was happening between them.

Slipping out from the blankets, she crossed the room to where her black duffel still sat waiting for her, checking for her pack of cigarettes. Tossing clothes aside, rummaging in as deep as the bottom, but she couldn’t find them. “Goddammit,” she rasped under her breath, combing her fingers through her hair as she tried to retrace her steps. Hardly a simple task when she’d been borderline catatonic as she was brought into the room last night. Sitting on the foot of her bed, pressing the butts of her palms to her eyes. She could barely remember much of anything at all, time slipping from her in that blank space between the attack and winding up with her mouth on Price’s. “Fuck,” she whispered.

Price’s snoring came to a stuttering stop and his eyes slowly opened, smacking his lips after having his mouth hanging open for half the night. “Rory?” Her hands were quick to slip from her face and she turned to find him staring at her groggy, his fingers running through his bedhead. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“Can’t find my fags.”

“They're on the nightstand. Brought ‘em in and put ‘em down for you.”

She sighed. “Thank you.”

His hand patted at the nightstand and grabbed her pack of cigarettes and lighter, tossing them towards her at the end of the bed. “Sleep alright, sweetheart?”

“Eventually.” She swiped up the cigarettes and the lighter and placed one between her lips, lighting its tip as she inhaled sharply. The cold air brushed against her flesh, a shiver coursed down her back, and she realized that the only thing covering her were her panties as she sat on the towel she had tossed there last night. Swallowing thickly, she turned once more to catch Price’s eyes on her figure, but he no longer seemed embarrassed being caught by her. “I suppose I should put some clothes on, eh?”

“You don’t have to on my account.”

Rory laughed and the smoke sputtered out of her mouth, coughing a few times to clear her lungs.

“What? I’m serious.” His grin grew and every line on his face came to life with the same warmth his eyes had.

“Of course you are,” she said, giving him a sideways glance and a smirk.

“It's not like I haven’t seen you –”

“I’m aware.” Her tone was short, cutting him off before he could dig the grave any deeper for himself.

The silence reappeared in the room, and Price’s heavy swallow seemed to fill the entire space. She was sure he was trying to find the next thing to say that wouldn’t be some bullshit sympathetic platitudes he already knew she wouldn’t want to hear, the same way he wouldn’t.

“Still sore?” he asked, head tipping to the side.

“Yeah…” She took a long drag of her cigarette as she hunched her shoulders, elbows resting on her knees. Surprised by the shock of warm, rough hands rubbing at the bare skin of her back. She stiffened and stood up like a shot, staring back at the Captain, her arm covering her topless chest. “Dammit, John!”

Stepping away from him, her feet dragging through the carpet, he looked back at her with a little smirk, his hands lifted in surrender. “I didn’t mean to scare ya.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Her eyes flared with anger, not from the actual move itself but from being caught off guard.

“I just wanted to help, Rory.”

Bringing the cigarette to her lips again, she let it rest there as she rubbed at her brow once more. “We – we can’t be doing this.”

“Need I remind you, you’re the one who kissed me.” His head tipped forward, steely eyes peering out from under his brow at her.

She pulled the cigarette from her lips and wisps of smoke trailed over her full lower pout. “Yes, I bloody know I did that.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No.” She answered instantly, the frustration disappearing from her tone as she looked down at the floor.

“So then what’s the problem?”

“You’re my superior, John! The morals and ethics are –” She looked up at him and his brow was lifted. Okay, fair. Breaking the standards of morals and ethics seemed to hardly be a problem for either of them, and yet this one was a rule she couldn’t seem to break. Not because it was wrong, but because it was him. The idea of giving him a reason to regret all this was a giant obstacle her mind refused to leap over. She had dealt with more than enough people up and leaving her in life, she couldn’t get close just for it to happen once more.

“Are what?”

“I am your subordinate, John. We promised each other we could be professional. We have to keep that promise. We have a mission to complete, the mission comes first.”

“Sure. But what about after?” He sat forward, resting his forearm on his thigh.

“I go back to desk duty with the SRR and you fight the threats.”

“No.”

“No?” Her eyes widened, surprised by his overly brusque denial of the situation. “Care to clarify that, Captain?”

“It doesn’t just end like that, darlin’. Not after what happened.”

“John…” Her voice was quiet, almost pleading for him to see sense.

He grabbed one of his cigars from the bedside table, clipped it, and flicked back the lid of his lighter. The chime of metal filling the quiet he left lingering as he lit the end. That burning orange glow at the tip as bright and clear as his intentions towards her now. He placed the lighter back on the table, his palm resting on it for a moment before turning to face her once more, barely restrained anger held in his clenched jaw. Anger she knew wasn’t really directed at her. “I let you march your pretty arse into danger and for what? Used you like bait, like a bloody tool, and it nearly cost you your life. You deserve better than that. The dress, the makeup, shouldn’t have wasted that on a bastard like Zorokov. Could’ve been you and me… still could.”

Rory huffed out a laugh. “The dress. Andrew…” She had been right about the way he was looking at her, the way he had been acting. “You were jealous, weren't you?”

Smoke drifted from his mouth in a thick cloud. “Of course I was bloody jealous, Rory. Look at you, can you really blame me? I've been with my fair share of women, but Jesus, none of them can hold a match to you, my girl.”

“ Your girl?” Her other arm crossed over her chest; the cigarette held between her fingers burning away.

“Listen, I've been trying my damnedest to keep my composure here. You think I went into this expecting to have this happen with my subordinate? 'S rule number one and I'm here breaking it for you.” He sighed. “I had to listen to you in my fuckin’ ear, Rory. It was a goddamn nightmare.”

He stepped closer to her, his height towering over her and she felt miniscule in that moment. She had always stood her ground, remained confident, nothing and no one seemed to intimidate her. His body heat radiated off of him like a furnace and she wanted that safety of being in his arms, but she couldn’t bear the feeling of being weak. She wasn’t gentle, she wasn’t needy, she wasn’t the lamb… she wasn’t .

“And so what, you want to have that be the foundation for a relationship? The fact that I nearly died and you had to pull me out of there? That’s the foot you want to start on? It’s like I said last night, John. This is a dangerous game to be playing and I am not worth the trouble. I’m not worth your career.”

“And why’s that, eh?” He leaned forward, his brows lifting causing his forehead to crease.

“I’m a fucking mess, that’s why. I’ve got nightmares, anxiety attacks, tremors, flashbacks. I’m in no place to start anything with anyone. And certainly not with someone who’s life could be upended because of me.”

“I don’t care.” He shrugged and gave a slight thrust of his pelvis as he crossed his arms over his chest. Obstinate, pigheaded right to the bitter end, refusing to back down from anything. This was Captain John Price type behavior through and through.

“What do you mean ‘you don’t care’?”

“You think all that’s gonna keep me away from you?”

“Well it should.”

“Why?” He lowered his head, looking up at her through his brow. Constantly challenging her.

“Trust me, after several nights of no sleep from me waking up with nightmares, you’ll understand.”

His eyes narrowed for a brief moment, the crow's feet by his eyes creasing. “Someone else left you ‘cause o’that?”

Rory grimaced and bit down on her molars. Her eyes fell to the floor as she turned her head away from him. She didn’t have to say anything, her body language gave it all away.

Price’s face darkened at her reaction, the look of a man planning on hunting down and teaching whoever it was that did that to her a lesson. “Christ, don’t tell me someone actually did that?”

“Of course someone fucking did that, John. Most people who see that side of me either think of me like I’m holding on by a goddamn thread and if it's not that, it's the whole horde of other shit in my head.” She rubbed at her brow and slipped the cigarette back between her lips. “People don’t want to fall in love with someone like me. It’s too hard to do,” she mumbled.

“Well, lucky for you I’m a bit of a stubborn bastard. I’m willin’ to put in the hard work. I can be goddamn relentless when need be.”

Rory scoffed, “I’d expect nothing less from you.”

He gave her a little crooked grin and stepped forward cutting all the space between them, cupping her face in his large hands, his thumbs stroking her cheeks softly. “I’m only gonna tell you this once, darlin’.” Leaning down, he pressed his forehead to hers. “I don’t care about how much trouble you might be, you hear me? I have to have you, Rory. I need you to be mine, yeah? Simple as.”

It was her turn to ask the question. “Why?”

“Because if there’s anyone who’s going to understand what’s going on in that pretty head of yours, 's me. I wanna protect you. I wanna make sure somethin’ like this never happens again. I can’t even take the thought of you bein’ with someone else ‘sides me.”

“I’m not willing to take the risk.”

He nodded his head slightly. “Well, I’m patient. Persistent. I can wait as long as I have to.”

“Fucking hell,” she said with a quiet chuckle, “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not after what I saw last night.”

She pulled away, the ash from her cigarette falling to the floor as it hung from her hand. Flexing her shoulders, Rory stood up taller, trying to regain some semblance of the strength she knew she had. “I’m not someone that needs to be guarded. I’m not some bloody damsel in distress. I don’t need you chaining yourself to me because you feel guilty or like this is your fault. That’s not what I want.”

“Well what do you want?”

There was a list she could give him, one that was a million miles long. But all she really wanted right now was to be looked at like a soldier, to be trusted. She didn’t need to rely on him, didn’t need to lean on him like some bending tree in a tempest.

“I just want to work.”

Taking a last drag from her cigarette, she moved towards the window and tossed the smoking butt out of it before grabbing the sweater from her bag and heading into the bathroom to start her morning routine, shutting the door behind her.

#call of duty #fan fiction #captain john price #oc: rory sinclair #ship: you are the sword to my shield #john price x oc #fic: all along the watchtower #chapter 11 #skelly writes

47 notes · View notes