Why did nobody tell me about Adler and Bell sooner?
Holy fuck the ANGST. DIS SHIT SPICY
In the best fucking way possible. Maybe it's all the fucked up brain worms i have talking, but Holy shit. Can I please have that level of codependency? I don't care if I get shot in the end.
I'll happily yip like a fucking dog.
(I'm not even into pet play, what the fuck am I doing- Holy fuck it need help)
Reader as Bell. Contains Spoiler for campaign. Tags under cut
Tags: Implied/Referenced brainwashing, No ships, one shot, migraines and headaches, swearing
They call you Bell.
You’re not entirely sure why.
Well… that’s not entirely true. You know why they call you Bell. It’s a callsign. Your callsign. Your very own special nickname. What you don’t know is why you’re the only one to have one.
Adler. Park. Sims. Woods. Mason. Lazar. Hudson.
You know call signs aren’t unusual. You’ve been a soldier for 10 years. No, 20. No 5? Since the war. Why can’t you remember? Years. You’ve worked with plenty of other soldiers who had codenames. From the KGB. M16. The Cia every unit you’ve been in, from every country you’ve visited. Butcher. Cub. Niagara. You know it’s normal in this field, something to both keep anonymity and keep things fun…
But they had reasons for their call signs. Stories. Memories attached to them… you don’t. The name ‘Bell’ doesn’t bring up any nostalgia or amusement to your mind. It’s been your callsign since Vietnam and you can’t even remember why-
You groan. The concrete floor of the safehouse seems to swim as another migraine comes on. You get them sometimes. A steady thump, thump, thump on the right side of your head. Right by your temple. You can’t fully muffle the low groan that falls from your lips as you rub the spot through your balaclava, feeling the small bump of a scar there. Arash. The fucker betrayed you. Shot you, the bullet barely missed. Blood stains the seats of the car and you’re sure you’re dead- How did you get that again?
“Everything alright, Bell?” Park asks. You jerk at the sudden noise. Looking up, you realize every eye in the safehouse is locked on you. Park takes a step forward and tilts her head the slightest bit, her lip quirks downward.
“Yeah, ‘m fine,” you mumble, “another migraine. Nothing major.”
Park lets out a deep breath, she gives a slight nod. You feel like you can breathe again too. You hate when they do that. Stare at you. You feel like someone on the team is always watching you. Like you aren’t on the same side as they are you’re not. You’re not. You’re not. Park walks away, going towards a drawer in the small office and returns with two small pills.
“Here. These should help.” She watches as you pop them in your mouth and swallow dry. Your head is starting to feel like someone’s taking an ax to your skull and you just want it to stop. “Better?”
“Don’t know. Just took ‘em.” You quip. Nobody laughs. You mumble out an apology but either none of them hear or none of them care. Probably a healthy mix of both.
“Take it easy, Bell.” Adler claps you on the back as he returns to his seat in the middle of the room. He does it a bit too hard, your body jolting slightly under the force and making your head swim some more. You give him a glare but he doesn’t even look back at you.
“Why does everybody even call me that anyway?” You ask.
He stiffens. He leans back in his seat, arms crossing. His blue eyes peer at you over the rim of his sunglasses and you suddenly feel cold. Your stomach churns like you might be sick.
“What do you mean by that?” He asks.
“My call sign,” you clarify, “What’s the story behind it?”
For one, brief moment, the safehouse is quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Nobody seems to breathe. Nobody seems to move. There is no wind. No rumble of cars driving down the shitty dirt road outside. All you hear is your own breathing and the pounding in your head that currently reminds you of a siren. You feel strange, an odd sense of otherness settles deep in your bones. It almost feels like you don’t belong here. The pounding on your head resembles the pounding on a door. A red door. A bunker door. Perseus. He thinks you’re a traitor. He thinks you betrayed him. He must be so disappointed in you.
“Bell.” Adler finally says, he seems to force his muscles to relax. “As in ‘ring a bell’. We started calling you that during the war. You could never seem to remember anything.”
He leans back against the table like he usually does, his eyes hidden safely behind his sunglasses once more. You look towards the evidence board, just in case you have to look into them again.
“Seems you still can’t.” He continues. He laughs but there is no real warmth behind it. Just the vague imitation of fondness. It feels almost like he is chuckling simply to placate you. “Get out of your head, Bell. We’ve got a job to do.”
Your headache stops. The pounding stops. The meds must have finally kicked in. You feel your migraine disappear behind a thick fog. You feel at home again. You know these people. Why on earth would you question their friendship?
“Sorry. You know me. Glad it still fits me though. My memory’s at this point. I’d lose my own head if it wasn’t attached.” You joke. Adler chuckles again, this time it does sound real.
You can’t even remember what pathways your mind was trying to lead you down, not when you feel like you’re floating. Your mind is soup. You don’t care. Adler is right.
adler and bell disguising themselves to get into the kgb headquarters as if adler isn’t the most american looking mf ever. take them sunglasses off thottie u look like u buy guns at walmart
