To Die Like This
Summary: Stuck in the Tundra with a bullet in your side, blood in your eye, and the agonizing feeling that your captain was going to throw an absolute fit when your bleeding body walked through the threshold of the safe house.
Note: There's just something about Price being so tender with the girl he loves that makes me go absolutely crazy. Anyway, it's been a long time since I've written anything and an even longer time since I've actually put something out. Hope y'all enjoy :)
(This work was also cross-posted on my ao3 account under hades_baby)
Word Count: 7109
You had always loved the serenity of a snowy forest.
They were typically peaceful and quiet, a drastic contrast to your usual life of gunfire and warfare.
The only things that ever really made a sound was the light crunch of snow beneath the thick soles of boots, the little animals scurrying from shrubs to burrows that led to their dens, and the winter birds chirping their little songs as they hopped from branch to branch.
The air was always so crisp with a light scent of fresh pine and bark. It lacked the smell of gunpowder and the musk that filled the tight barracks.
Honestly, if you could have it your way, you’d die in a forest like this.
Have your trauma-ridden life end in a place so ethereal.
The whole military life never really gave you what you wanted though.
You typically had to take what you could get.
The orders you were given weren’t to your liking?
Too bad, you’d have to follow them anyway.
The mission you were assigned to was in the middle of the fucking Tundra where you knew your fingers would freeze and you’d never be able to keep warm?
You’re getting on the damn plane and going anyway because you were told to.
A lead slugger was shot into your side and you were currently bleeding through your gear and you wanted to do nothing more than lay down in the snow and let the cold take you while the little blood you had left in your system melted the snow beneath your limp body?
Well, too fucking bad. Get the fuck up because your Captain doesn’t take too kindly to any of his soldiers dying on the job.
Yeah.
You didn’t really get your way when it came to being a soldier, but today might have been your lucky day.
That little snowy death wish that had been playing out in the back of your head for the past thirty minutes was starting to look like it might come true.
There was a small burning bullet set in your side, a nice little slash on your arm from a bowie knife that had once been stuck in another man’s chest, and there was a cheeky little gash somewhere on your head that was pouring enough blood into your left eye to make you shut it and trek around half blind.
It felt like you were getting too old for this kind of work.
Then again, if Price could still keep up with this shit and be chipper doing it, then so could you.
“What’s your ETA, Frost?”
His voice over your comms had startled you.
“I don’t fucking know,” you snapped in a breathy tone as you slammed against the side of a pine tree to brace yourself before you could fall flat on your face. The fresh powder beneath you was starting to look really enticing.
You closed your good eye—the one that hadn’t been flooded with blood—and let out a defeated sigh, dipping your head as you tried to catch your breath and not focus on the stinging sensation of all the wounds that riddled your body.
“Sorry,” you muttered, apologizing to your Captain for your tone. You glanced at the watch on your wrist to check your current coordinates. “I’m a klick out from the safehouse. I should be there in a bit.”
“Copy.”
Price left it at that.
He sounded tired.
It was the same tone he spoke in when he was stuck in his office, getting dragged down into the depths with paperwork and mission reports he didn’t even want to think about. The tone that would come out when someone tried to talk to him too soon after a mission when all he wanted to do was relax and work the knots out of his shoulders. The tone that you heard oh so often when you’d pop into his office to keep him company while he dotted his i’s and crossed his t’s and when you’d work your fingers into the knots and sore spots on his back until he nearly fell asleep in his office chair.
Fuck.
You needed to get a move on.
After taking a deep breath, you trekked on, using every other tree to keep yourself upright as you staggered on your tired feet.
Blood was seeping through all of your gear, some of it dripping into the pristine white powder beneath your feet. It was tragic how the deep crimson liquid stained the gorgeous snow. In your line of work, you had seen blood stain an array of surfaces, but snow seemed to be the worst of them. It was something that was meant to be clean and pure, yet here you were, ruining it.
A grimace fell over your face at the sight.
After a few minutes passed by, your legs met the threshold of movement and you slammed into another tree trunk. Your temple met the bark, wood scratching against the skin of your face. You closed your eyes as you tried to catch your breath and focus on not passing out while your limbs buzzed in pain.
You could make it.
Probably.
All you could really think about was the fact that you were definitely going to be telling Price that you didn’t want to do any more jobs in the Tundra. You enjoyed the cold climate when you weren’t working, which was almost never, but you still had a few days of leave a year where you got to fully relax (if your brain allowed).
You liked the cold when you could cuddle up next to someone to stay warm, drink some hot cider, and watch stupid Christmas movies that had too many questionable moments that made you really sit and stare, trying to figure out whether or not you should laugh.
You enjoyed the cold even more when you could hide away in the barracks, keeping warm with Price wrapped around you, hands tracing over your skin, heating you up quicker than a blanket ever could.
“Frost.”
“Captain.”
He didn’t respond right away, making you wonder if he just wanted to say your callsign for the hell of it.
“ETA?”
“Couple of minutes,” you answered.
The eye with blood in it was starting to sting, the foreign liquid now slipping all the way to your jaw and dripping from your chin.
“Cut it down to a minute.”
Price was starting to catch on that something was wrong. You were taking far too long to get to the safe house from where you had been coming from and your words were becoming too short and strained every time he asked you a question. Something was wrong and it was taking everything in him to not run out of the safehouse in search of you. You’d always been the type to be vocal when something went awry out in the field, so he silently prayed that your absence of issue meant that everything was fine and that you truly were just taking your sweet ass time to get to him.
“You’re starting to sound like Gaz with all the worrying you’re doing, Pricey,” you teased, adding on the little nickname that you knew peeved him.
“Shut it and get a damn move on.”
“Yessir.”
You started moving again just as he ordered you to do, finding some sense of motivation after hearing his gruff voice. It was the voice that had welcomed you to the 141 after Laswell had shipped you off to join the task force. The voice that had let you know that you were okay and safe when the boys had finally found you after you had been taken hostage on a mission in your earlier days. The voice that had talked you through every touch that made your body burn as he sunk his fingers into you.
It was the kind of voice that you’d betray death for.
A little while later, the safehouse finally came into view.
You glanced at your watch, checking how much time had passed.
A minute and twenty-seven seconds.
Price wasn’t going to let you hear the end of it.
You winced in pain, feeling the skin of your arm pull apart. The soldier that had cut you had grabbed the knife he used from the middle of another man’s chest and you were starting to feel queasy from the thought of your blood mixing with his. You needed to get your gash disinfected soon or you were going to have a problem. Well, technically you already had multiple problems, but you were trying to take on one issue at a time.
Alright, maybe it was about time you mentioned something to your captain.
“Hey, Cap’?” you probed as you quietly trudged toward the short porch steps of the cute little cottage. “Is this a bad time to mention that I got hit earlier?”
You failed to mention how badly you were hit.
“What the hell—what do you mean you got hit?”
You stopped a good ten feet from the steps, furrowing your brows.
There was no sign of Price having entered through the front door. The powder in front of the stairs had been untouched and there weren’t any wet footprints on the old wood of the porch. The windows were dark and nothing could be seen from the outside. The only thing that gave any sign of someone being inside was the dark smoke slowly wisping from the brick chimney peeking out of the top of the cabin.
“I mean, I got a nice little slugger in my side and some blood pouring out of me in other places,” you said, keeping your voice low and quiet. You wondered if you were in the right place. You looked down at your watch, checking your coordinates. According to the device, you were. “Are you inside?”
He ignored your question.
“Where the hell’s your kit?”
“Somewhere in the forest four klicks back.”
You looked around again, hoping to find some sign of this being the right place.
“Christ, Frost,” Price muttered. You didn’t need to see him to know that he was shaking his head at you. “How far out are you?”
“Right out front,” you answered.
You gave in.
The wood creaked under the thick soles of your boots as you trekked up the stairs. You shoved the door open, stumbled inside, and slammed the door shut as you slumped against the wall. You slowly slid down to the floor. The cold began to set into your bones as the distinctive heat from the fireplace on your left radiated around you.
Price rushed into the room.
“Well, aren’t you a right-all mess,” he said as he moved toward you.
“Shut up,” you muttered, shaking your head before tilting it back to rest against the wall. You opened your good eye as he knelt down in front of you.
“Where are you broken, love?” he asked as his eyes scanned over you, clocking every little rip and tear in your gear before you could even say anything.
He hated seeing you like this.
It had become one of the toughest parts of his job ever since Laswell had sent you his way to recruit to the taskforce. There was just something about you that made his heart ache whenever he saw you in pain in any way.
He knew that it was all a part of the job.
That there were always going to be times where he saw you like this; busted and broken.
And he always fucking hated it.
He knew he’d hate it ever since the first time he had seen you like this. It was way back when you had first joined the team. You’d only been with them for a good six months, but you had already gone on about four missions with them. It had been a busy year for the task force, but you didn’t seem to mind. If anything, you were eager to keep getting back out on the field every time you got back to base.
On their fifth mission all together, when they believed that they had the upper hand, you and Soap had been ambushed. The Scot had been knocked unconscious while you were taken captive, too many soldiers for the two of you to take out on your own without any supporting fire.
Learning that you had been taken was worrisome on its own, but Price’s heart ached when they finally found you.
He had sunken to his knees in front of you, using his knife to work away the zip ties that had you bound to an uncomfortable looking metal chair. Your face was bruised and bloody. Gashes from knife wounds worked their way down your arms and legs. Burn marks from what looked like cigarettes were ingrained into your plush skin.
You looked beyond rough.
Price had felt furious that he had let any of this happen to you, but the fury was quickly overcome with worry when you had perched your eyes open and groaned in pain. He let out a sigh of relief, finally knowing that you were, at the very least, well enough to be conscious. He had tried to soothe you as best he could and when you were finally free of your bounds, you practically fell into his embrace, your entire body slumping against his.
It was that very moment—when he wrapped his arms around you and held the entirety of you—that was when he knew that seeing you like this would always pull deadly wear on his heart. His old heart wouldn’t be able to take seeing you like this and hoped that it would be a rarity for his tiring eyes.
Much to his surprise, it had been a rare sight.
But that didn’t mean it was a non-existent sight.
“Got shot in my right side, bullet’s still somewhere in there from what I can tell. Slash on my right arm from a gross ass knife that was already stuck in someone else before it got to me. And I got hit in the head and I can’t see out of my fucking right eye because of all the goddamn blood,” you explained, lifting one of your hands to try and wipe the blood away from your eye, but to no avail, the metallic liquid kept flowing. There was no use in trying to see right now anyway.
“Let’s get you fixed up then,” he said, a sense of urgency finally filling his voice.
He had been attempting to keep his cool this entire time; to not panic so you wouldn’t panic either. But he knew that you were much too tired to even start panicking, so perhaps he was just trying to stay calm for his own sake. He found it funny that out of everyone on the task force, he had been the one to deal with more field injuries, yet here he was with his damned nerves buzzing out of his skull.
Something like this shouldn’t have worried him as much as it did.
But it was you.
He couldn’t help himself when it came to you.
Whatever was going on between the two of you had always left him in the realm of something being completely unspoken. The relationship that had sprouted was in some sort of limbo, but neither of you seemed to mind since it was easier that way.
It was easier than having to tell the boys that something was going on between you two. It was easier than telling Laswell that there may be some sort of infringement on the team—not that she’d care unless it really started to affect how the two of you went about your work lives. And it was easier than admitting to each other that there might be something more than a quick casual stress-relief fuck.
The two of you had shared too many moments together for that to be true.
There were too many night’s of your bodies being pressed together and entwined, skin to skin to keep each other warm. Too many words of comfort as you soothe the nightmares of war away, finding comfort in each other’s arms. Too many gentle kisses for it to not be real.
Your eyes were closed.
He didn’t care much for that.
“Frost,” he said, bumping your arm without a slash in it to jostle you awake. You opened your good eye and looked up at him, sending him a quick look of aggravation. It would’ve been amusing if you weren’t bleeding out before his very eyes. “Need your good eye open so I know you aren’t dying on me, sweetheart.”
You grunted in response, looking away from him but still keeping your eye open.
The feeling of disquietude was starting to set in.
It wasn’t normal for you to get hit during missions—it was actually quite rare. Soap was usually the one to take the podium for taking quite a bit of damage out in the field. Regardless of all that, you still knew what to do in such situations. You wouldn’t have been at this level of infantry if you didn’t know what to do.
The hard part was the fact that you were in the presence of your captain.
Moments ago, when you were trekking to the safehouse, you knew that you wouldn’t have to do any of this alone because your captain was waiting less than a klick away from you.
The thought alone made everything feel easier.
It was always harder doing it all alone.
You thought back to the first and only time you had applied a tourniquet on yourself. Damn near gave up and bled out from how painful it was to cinch the band as tight as you could to keep yourself from bleeding out. You had spent years in the service of infantry. Years of wear and tear on the body, but that kind of pain was something you never wanted to feel again in your lifetime or in any lifetime. So when you felt your arm begin to fall numb from the lack of blood circulating through your veins, you knew that you had to get to Price before you would be forced to deal with it on your own.
When he was around, you knew that you’d never have to face anything alone.
You had learned to find such comfort in that.
Price felt sick to his stomach as he started to get some of your heavier gear off. Your weapons were first to go, then your holsters, and then your vest. He was almost afraid to remove your thermal to see the damage the thick white jacket was hiding poorly.
He couldn’t keep his damn head straight.
Simon had griped with him about it a while back, saying that he needed to do better about keeping a clear head around you, but Price still managed to get work done on missions, so the younger man could never really get on him about it all that much. Simon didn’t know exactly what was going on between you two behind closed doors, but he had enough of an idea seeing how much Price doted on you even when you told him to fuck off and focus on something else for a while.
It was the playfulness of your jabs that usually gave it away.
That and the lingering looks you two sent each other as if you were some love sick teenagers.
Price knew that you were more than capable of handling yourself in the field, but there was always something whispering in the back of his head that had him wearing a deep sense of worry on his sleeve every time he had to send you out on a mission. He had read your file when Laswell had recruited you. You were beyond skilled in almost everything you did and you rarely ever came back to base having to see a medic, so hearing that you had actually been hit—
“I can’t feel my arm.”
“Shite,” Price cursed, snapping out of his thoughts as he snatched his medkit and opened it up to finally help you.
The cold had finally set in and all the blood that had seeped from your arm was causing your skin to turn pale. The gash on your arm was still wide open, but blood had stopped spilling from it, which meant he could disinfect it and get it closed without anything (hopefully) going wrong. Your side wasn’t doing all that bad, still bleeding, but not bad. He’d probably have to cauterize the wound just to feel like he could leave it be, but that could wait for after he got the bullet out of you.
“Arm first, then your side,” he decided, nodding his head before he turned back to his kit. He turned back with a bottle in hand and you grimaced at the sight. “Gonna have to feel more broken before you feel fixed.”
“No shit,” you muttered, eyeing the small bottle of alcohol in his hand. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be snappy.”
Price set the bottle down, reached for his belt, and took it off. Something deep in you fluttered, but it stopped when he presented it to your face in a folded mess.
“Bite down,” he said. You eyed him a little more, making him huff. “Bite down on it, Frost.”
You huffed back at him and bit down on the folded belt. You held it between clenched teeth, watching as he picked the bottle of alcohol back up. He sighed and nodded, almost as if he was telling himself that he was ready to do this. He tipped the bottle and poured the liquid over the wound. You squirmed and held back a writhing scream. He quickly clamped your legs between his knees, keeping you from squirming away.
“I know, I know, sweetheart,” he said, trying to sooth you as he set the bottle down and wiped around the edge of the wound. He grabbed a needle and thread from his kit.
You groaned through the thickness of the belt as he stabbed the needle into your skin, creating even sutures along the wound. Your eyes closed as you tried to not focus on anything specific, but the feeling of Price keeping you in place while he dug a needle kept you from thinking of anything else.
Price hated this.
He hated every fucking part of this.
Digging a needle and thread into your arm while you bit onto a belt.
He thought back to the last time he had touched you.
It was the night before the mission that you two were currently on. Price hadn’t expected to see you until the two of you were meant to take off on the tarmac, but he found himself aimlessly wandering the halls of the barracks until he wound up at the door of your private quarters.
He almost hadn’t knocked.
It was late, you two had to be up early, and he still didn’t know where the two of you stood when it came to something like this.
He knew that there was some sort of love there, but he wasn’t too sure about the type. He knew that if he was stressed about all the ridiculous mission reports and papers he had to sign off on late into the night when he should be sleeping instead, you’d be sitting there with him to keep him company. He knew that if he mentioned that something was hurting, you’d use your nimble and calloused fingers to work away the knots and sore spots that came with all the training and missions. He knew that in a moment of weakness, he could count on you to hold the broken pieces of his soul together.
Everything in his mind told him to leave you alone and let you be for the night, but the Captain was feeling selfish and he rarely ever got to indulge in such things.
His entire life and career, he was meant to be selfless.
To put everyone else’s needs before his own.
And ultimately, he had been okay with that… until he met you.
He found himself tempted to be selfish when it came to you.
He had knocked and you had answered.
It was all he needed for the night.
Maybe for life.
“Done,” he said, tying off the last stitch and cutting the thread.
“Thank fuck,” you breathed out, letting the belt drop from your mouth.
“Still have a few more things to do,” he said, jerking his chin in the direction of your side before glancing at your head. “I’m gonna have to lay you down flat to get the bullet out, alright?”
“M’kay,” you muttered, still feeling hazy. Your nerves were buzzing in all the wrong ways and you just wanted it to stop.
Price carried you over to the fireplace and laid you out on the floor next to the fire in hopes of warming you up. The flame felt nice against your freezing skin. He worked quickly to strip you of your thermal undershirt. The wound on your side looked small, but the skin around it was stained red with thick blood.
“Want the belt again?” he asked. You sighed and nodded. He grabbed his belt and folded it up again before placing it back in your mouth. Your teeth dug into the material as you anticipated whatever pain was about to come. “Ready?”
You grunted in response.
He used a set of dull tweezers to dig into your side, fishing for the little bullet deep in your flesh. You reeled in pain, damn near shooting up on your own, but Price used his free hand to push your chest back down to keep you steady.
“I know, pretty girl, I know,” he tried to soothe, continuing to search for the hunk of lead. You writhed in pain, pressing yourself against the floor as hard as you could as if that would help you escape the pain that was stabbing into it. The ends of the tweezers grazed something hard and he knew that he almost had it. “Almost got it. Almost done.”
After a few moments, he pulled the metal fragment from your body and pulled the tweezers from your aching flesh. You gasped, shaking as you laid limp. Your shoulders slumped against the wood floor as your chest heaved. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you tried to catch your breath.
“You’re alright,” he said, squeezing your good arm as if that would make everything better. He massaged your bicep for a moment, using it as an excuse to keep his hands on you. He was also trying to calm you down a bit more before he had to move onto the actual hard part. He grimaced and glanced over to the fireplace. “Do you trust me?”
“Mhm,” you hummed, lazily nodding your head as you felt consciousness slipping through your fingers.
“I need you to close your eyes, sweetheart.”
“Mm-mm,” you said, shaking your head this time around.
“I need you to trust me on this one, Frost.”
You stared at him for a long while before finally giving in and closing your eyes. You slammed the back of your head against the wood flooring as hard as you could, wishing that the impact had knocked you out because you knew that whatever he was about to do was going to hurt like hell.
Price had always been the type to make sure that his own were safe and taken care of, but he was also the type to tell his own to buck up and take it. Whenever the boys got injured out in the field, he would always make sure that they were okay, and if they were, he’d tell the lot of them to get back to work then.
Even with you.
Every time you had been bruised and battered, if you told him that you were okay, he’d believe you and expect you to be okay and not broken.
So the fact that he was telling you to close your eyes and to trust him meant that it had to be bad and that scared you.
Price waited for a few moments, making sure that you kept your eyes closed before he proceeded with what he was about to do. He grabbed the hot poker from the fireplace, the one that he had been stoking the fire with before you had made it to the confines of the safehouse and trudged in with all of your broken parts. He took a deep breath, knowing that there was a good chance that he was going to hate this just as much as you.
“Bite down hard and keep your eyes closed, you hear?” he ordered, heaving one last warning before he pressed the burning poker to your skin.
You did exactly as he ordered even though you were itching to scream and open your eyes to see what the fuck he was doing, but the smell of your burning flesh was enough to urge you to just squeeze your eyes shut even tighter.
You were going to pass out.
Or vomit.
Or maybe scream at Price for cauterizing your wound without a proper fucking warning.
Maybe all three.
You eventually fell limp, no longer having the energy to resist the fiery pain that flooded over your skin. The only part of you that could move was your heaving chest as your lungs begged for some semblance of air.
Price pulled the poker away, tossing the burning end back into the fire.
“You’re doing great, sweetheart,” he said, disinfecting the area around the cauterized wound to ensure that everything was thoroughly taken care of. He placed a bandage over it and then gently grasped your shoulders, his thumb massaging circles into your skin. “Gonna get you up now, nice and easy.”
He slowly pulled you into an upright position, but you haphazardly slumped forward into his arms, forehead hitting his chest. He let your full weight fall against him. You still hadn’t said anything, nor had you opened your eyes. All you could really manage were hard, labored breaths that made your entire body quake.
His heart hurt.
Probably not as much as you were hurting, but still, it hurt.
He couldn’t stand to see you like this.
Body shaking in his arms, lungs gasping for air, kind eyes hidden behind low lids.
He wanted to take you from this world.
To take you from the world of hurt.
The world where you were constantly shot at and put at risk every time a new mission was assigned to the taskforce.
But he knew that he’d never be able to take you from this world of chaos and pain. You’d surely raise hell the day you truly had to leave the force. You had always said that you’d probably die in the military. He really prayed that you wouldn’t.
He pulled you into his lap, settling you down comfortably as he grabbed a clean wrap. He propped you up a little more so your head was resting against his shoulder, face tucked you into the crook of his neck. He wrapped your midsection, making sure to keep the bandages snug and clean.
“Almost done,” he promised in a sweet coo.
You opened your mouth, finally letting the belt drop to the floor. You hadn’t realized that it was still in your mouth.
“Fuck,” you breathed out as he tied the bandages off, running his fingers over the material to make sure it all laid flat and clean.
“Gonna lay you back down,” he said.
You shook your head, pressing your forehead against his shoulder in hopes that he’d understand that you wanted to stay like that in his arms, face tucked away so he couldn’t see you cry. You just needed a moment to collect yourself. Tears pooled in your eyes, the pain setting in even more as the adrenaline started to wear off. He placed one of his hands on your back, gently rubbing circles over your shoulder blades in an attempt to calm you down.
“I’ve got you, Frost,” he muttered, pulling you in closer. Hot tears rushed faster from your eyes, slipping down, and staining his shirt as they dropped from your face. The diluted mix of salt water and blood didn’t bother him much. “Gotta check that head of yours. Clearly you’ve got a screw loose since you thought hiding all of this from me was okay.”
“Didn’t want to bother,” you muttered hazily in broken fits.
“Helping you ain’t a bother, love,” he said, shaking his head. He slowly pulled you away from him and cupped your face in his rough hands. “How’s the head feeling?”
“Amazing. Thanks for asking,” you said, letting the weight of your head sink into the salvation of his hands. He kept you up, calloused fingers running over your cheekbones to wipe away the stray tears still slipping from your eyes. The salty water had started to clear the blood from one of your eyes, but it wasn’t enough to fully see. You squeezed your eyes shut even more, leaning into him, and slumping in his hold.
“Need you awake, soldier,” he said, jostling you around a bit. You opened your good eye, staring into his focused ones.
There was so much comfort in his gaze.
Solace.
Made you feel warm.
Too warm.
Your eyes closed as you fell fully limp in his embrace.
He scrambled to keep you in an upright position.
“None of that now. Come on, Frost—”
God, you could die listening to that voice.
You woke with the scent of musk and cigar smoke lingering around you.
It was a scent that you had grown accustomed to waking up to.
There was a sense of easement that fell over you whenever the scent lingered on your sheets whenever he found an excuse to stay the night in your private quarters back in the barracks. A scent that you found comfort in whenever you woke from a long flight after a rough mission. And a scent you had learned to completely love when you invited him to stay with you for Christmas when the entire task force inevitably left for their week long holiday leave.
You attempted to take a deep breath to take the comforting scent in, but it was cut short when you felt your skin pull against the stitches in your side.
“You scared the shit out of me.”
You jolted from the sudden presence of the familiar gruff voice, but Price’s arms cinched around you tighter to keep you from falling from his lap and onto the floor. You were comfortably curled up in his lap, his arms around your body. His brows were furrowed, eyes riddled with stress and worry as he stared at you.
It was the same look that he always gave when he felt like he failed someone.
Disappointed them.
“I’m sorry,” you muttered.
He stared at you for a little longer before pulling you in to hug you tight. You winced slightly, but were happy nonetheless to be close to the worried captain. You sighed and closed your eyes, letting your face rest in the nape of his neck. The smell of musk and thick cigars filled your system again.
“You can’t scare me like that again, Frost. I don’t think my old heart could take another fright like that,” he said, shaking his head to nuzzle his face into yours. He took a deep breath, taking in the smell of your hair. Even with everything you’d been through, the light scent of your usual shampoo still lingered. “Plus the boys would kill me if I ever came back with you in pieces.”
“They’d live,” you muttered, even though you knew he was right.
The boys of the 141 would probably wreak havoc if you ever came back from a mission on the brink of death. Though, they’d never blame Price. You knew that much for sure. They’d know that your captain would do anything and everything in his power to get you back in the best shape he could manage.
You slowly pulled away from him, staying in his lap as you tried to reorientate yourself. You had been stripped down to your base layers, your other gear laid out near the fire to dry the blood and snow that had soaked into the material. He was also down to his base layers, his gear and his silly little hat in a pile on the other side of the room.
The two of you were comfortably resting on the rundown couch closest to the fireplace, but the sight of the fire brought a memory back to you.
“I can’t believe you fucking cauterized my wound you bastard—”
“Had to get it shut, sweetheart—”
“And a fire poker was your first and only thought?”
He grimaced and sat back so he was pressed against the couch cushion. His hands stayed on you, one on your hip and the other on your thigh, fingers tracing gentle circles into your skin.
“Stitches weren’t gonna cut it,” he said, shaking his head.
You sighed, knowing he was right.
“I want a cigarette,” you said, going to slide off his lap in hopes of finding a pack stashed somewhere in the pockets of your gear. He tightened his grip on you, pulling you back into him.
“Wouldn’t do you any good to have one right now,” he said.
“I want one anyway.”
He sighed and shook his head before grabbing a cigar from the ashtray on the coffee table beside the couch. It wasn’t a cigarette, but it would do. You found it humorous that a safehouse had an ashtray, but knowing the people you worked with, it almost made sense.
The end of the cigar was already burnt, meaning he had been smoking while you were out in his arms. He placed it in his mouth and grabbed the lighter, burning the end until he was able to take a decent drag. The breath of smoke was held deep in his chest before he slowly blew it out. He made sure to blow the smoke away from your face before holding the cigar out to you. You went to grab it, but he moved his hand just out of your reach. Furrowing your brows, your eyes flicked between him and the cigar. He slowly brought it back to you, but held it right up to your lips. It wasn’t until you wrapped your lips around it did he let it go and the weight of the cigar rested against your lip.
You took a deep drag, holding it until you felt light headed. You leaned back, only stopping when his hand braced against your lower back to keep you from tipping over. You slowly blew out, letting the smoke wisp above your head. You passed the cigar back to him and he placed it back in his mouth, the tips of his teeth chewing the end a bit.
It was a nervous habit of his.
Typically had to swat his thigh to get him to quit.
He took another drag.
He tilted his head to the side to blow the smoke away from your face, but before he could, you gently grabbed his face and turned it back to face you. He furrowed his brows in a confused manner, but you slowly leaned forward and he got the idea.
God.
He could die like this.
You sitting in his lap, a cigar in hand, and you begging for something that he could only think to do with someone he loved.
All he was missing was a glass of whiskey to top it all off.
He cupped your face and urged you closer, but stopped before your lips could touch. You were tempted to lean forward and close the distance, but you stopped yourself. Your mouth was slightly ajar, wondering if he’d actually go through with it.
He did.
He kissed you hard and blew the smoke right into your mouth. Heat filled your system as you slowly leaned back and exhaled, letting smoke wisp away between the two of you.
“Fuckin’ minx,” he muttered before taking another drag with a smirk on his face. “Even on the brink of fucking death.”
“You love it,” you teased. He huffed out a gruff laugh. “I’m sorry for almost dying.”
“Don’t let it happen again,” he said. “Boys would kill me in a jealous rage if they found out you died in my lap like this.”
“As if,” you said, rolling your eyes.
“You don’t see the way those boys look at you, love,” he said, shaking his head.
“Yeah? And how about the way you look at me?” you wondered.
His gaze met yours and you didn’t dare pull away.
“Just like this,” he said, his lids low as his eyes flicked down to your lips and then back to your eyes.
The fingers that had once been drawing circles into your skin had stopped, the pads of them pressing into your plush thighs instead. He had a good grip on you. You weren’t going anywhere. Not that you wanted to go anywhere.
You could stay like this forever.
“You gonna keep looking at me like that or are you gonna do something about it?” you asked, wondering how far he’d actually go while the two of you were on a mission.
Then again, you two were technically done with the mission and you were just waiting for evac so… no harm, no foul.
He let out a light laugh before bringing a hand up to your face and pulling you in until his lips pressed against yours. You leaned into him, your front pressed against his own. You moved your legs until you straddled him, wincing once from the pain in your side. He pulled back, pressing a hand down to where your wound was, looking over the bandaged area.
“I’m alright,” you assured him. You cupped his face in your hands and slowly tilted it back up until he was looking at you again. “I’m alright, John.”
He kissed you again, resting his hands on your hips with a light squeeze.
“Evac won’t be here for another six hours,” you said, having caught a glance at the watch on his wrist. “Care to kill some time?”
“Oh, I’d love to.”