angst, comfort and fluff with Graves
content warning: SPOILER for MW2 (Graves' incident in Las Almas), mention of death and mourning the loss of your husband
The soft pattering sound of the drizzling rain hitting your umbrella barely offers comfort as you sit in front of your husband's grave. Tears roll down your cheeks as the cold breeze sends a shiver down your spine.
"We regret to inform you that Commander Phillip Graves was killed in action on November 5th in Las Almas, Mexico." Your heart shatters over and over whenever you remember what the Shadow Company soldiers told you, trying their best to comfort you. It didn't help, and now, three hours after the funeral, you're still crying.
He's gone, you think and sob into your hands. The umbrella long forgotten on the ground next to you as you cried into your hands. It's not the end of the world, you know that, but what would you do without Phillip, the man you love, the love of your life?
You're not ready to leave, desperately clinging to the grass you're sitting on, staring at the gravestone with a mix of tears and raindrops in your eyes. It's a seemingly endless cycle; you cry, you sob, you heave for air, then finally calm down a little and wipe away the water on your face before it starts over again.
The sun sets and you feel numb. The rays of the sun warm your skin, but your body feels cold. Horribly cold, like the only thing that could provide you with warmth is being in your late husband's arm.
The thought makes tears well up in your eyes again and you take a deep breath, inhaling the smell of the rain. With a weak, forced smile, you stand up and push your wet hair out of your face. "I love you, Phillip," you whisper and put down one red and one white rose that you've held all afternoon.
Red for your love for him.
White for the peace you hope he's finally found.
An hour later, you sit in your bedroom at home, the warm cup of tea in your hands warming your hands. The house feels so cold and empty without the presence of your husband, without the presence of the love of your life, the man you would've died for.
You've spent weeks, months waiting for him to come home while he was deployed, and now you're really struggling with his absence because you know he's not coming back like he promised.
For a very long moment, you wonder if his passing was for the better. As cruel as it sounds, and as much as it makes you want to cry harder, you think about it. He died in a tank. A burning tank in Las Almas, so far away from home. You cry again and your tears mix with the tea in your mug, thinking about how horrifying it must have been for him. They couldn't even find his body.
Your body trembles as you sob and cling to the mug he always drank from, fingers curled tightly around the cup. You want to scream, you want to sob and cry and bawl your eyes out until you physically can't anymore.
You stand up with the remaining power that you have and walk to the balcony connected to your bedroom, holding the mug close to your chest, desperate to feel the familiar warmth spread in your chest again. It doesn't. It feels different, unfamiliar, too hot and not warm enough at the same time.
A quiet cry passes your lips and you close your eyes, your heart aches in your chest. You want nothing more than to feel Phillip's arms around you again, just for a last time, just to say goodbye forever. And you do. Miraculously, you feel someone embrace you from behind and you sob. You're dreaming, this isn't real.
"You're not gonna say hi to me, darlin'?"
You gasp at the familiar, heartwarming Southern accent coming from behind you and turn around quickly with wide and teary eyes to see his face. Blue eyes staring deep into yours, warm and comforting smile on his lips, the scar going from his cheek to his ear. No burns.
Deep in shock, you nearly drop the mug, but Phillip takes it from your hands and puts is on the railing. "Come here," he says quietly and opens his arms, and you furrow your brows and wipe away your tears. It must be the blurry vision, or the low oxygen in your brain from the heavy crying. But your doubts are quickly washed away by sudden clarity. It's Phillip, your husband, standing in front of you.
He smiles softly and takes a step closer, tilting his head as he gently holds you by your lower arms. "Hi there."
You're quick to hug him, taking him by surprise as his eyes widen momentarily and he stumbles backward, wrapping his arms tightly around you and kissing the top of your head.
"I missed you too, sweetheart," he whispers in your ear, and you pull away to look at him with tears in your eyes, half-heartedly punching his chest with your fist.
"You're dead," you cry and hit him again and again, anger coursing through your veins despite how much you want him to be alive.
"It's a magic trick, darlin'," he says with a small chuckle, wrapping his fingers around your wrist to stop you from hitting him. "The tank was remotely controlled."
You sniffle quietly and sob again. "What do you mean?"
He kisses your forehead and smiles. "I wasn't in that tank."
"So you lied to me?!" You're extremely glad he's alive, but also very angry that he put you through the grief of losing the love of your life.
His smile drops. "I'm sorry, but I had to do it to come back home," he assures you and softly squeezes your side. "I promise."
You hug him again and inhale his scent, finally feeling the warmth in your chest again. "I love you." You hit his chest again and sniffle. "Bastard."
He chuckles and tilts your head so you look into his eyes, cupping your jaw in his hand. "I love you too, darlin'. And I promise I'll always come back to you." He kisses you gently, lips moving against yours as he hums contently, then pulls away and holds you close, burying his nose in your hair. "I'll always come back to my peace."
Bro I cried writing this.
