She had grown used to fixing herself up, even though she had minimum medical training. Experience went a long way, though most of that experience came from watching other people fix her up. Stitches were a little bit tricky for her but she’d done them enough times before. They were nothing glamorous, but they did the trick, which was all she really cared about. She was currently seated in the rec room with her med kit opened up next to her on one of the tables. There were bandages and other medical tools scattered about and some blood dabbling the floor. It wasn’t the most sanitary work space but it would do for now.
Aside from a couple of rather large gashes, she was relatively alright. Just a little bruised and bloody from getting knocked around. Her left arm was stitched up pretty well, but the problem was the gash on her right forearm. War was predominately right handed, which meant she’d have to stitch with her left. “Shit.” She cursed when she dropped the needle again, leaning down to pick it up for the third time. The young soldier was so preoccupied with her stitching that she hadn’t heard the Captain enter the room.
Yuri’s been washing his fingers a lot lately. He’s never had much to speak of in terms of nails, yet he cannot seem to get them clean. Every time he looks down at his hands finds another spot, and every time he feels like he has to throw up, like he suddenly can’t fit in his own body anymore. He’s had blood on his hands before, both real and metaphorical but this is different - it’s worse somehow.
So he washes his hands. He washes his hands in boiling water, and scrubs his nails with a brush until the skin is red and raw; until they sting and burn so much he forgets the other feeling.
He supposes it would be easier if he was alone.
If he wasn’t stuck in a very little safe-house with John Price of all people.
Feeling miserable is one thing, he can handle miserable, is used to miserable; wanting to stab someone in the throat is an entirely other feeling.
“Excuse me-- Excuse me-- Captain! Up here!” Peering down at the rest of the training array, the Russian tried to wave her coworker over, tightening her thighs as the offered hand left the wood beneath her. Straddling the top of the climbing wall, the woman grit her teeth. Holding the pose for so long had left her sore from the base of her spine down, something made all the worse by the biting temperatures.
“You would not happen to know where the rope to this bit is, would you?”
He’d only feel safe when he was on the ground. Gaz always got a dizzy, falling feeling when he was in the air. Knowing that Nikolai was possibly drunk every time they took off did nothing to ease his discomfort. With practice, Gaz had become more tolerate, and frankly he knew he needed to be. He learned how to numb his anxiety. Gaz looked across the helicopter to the captain. He adjusted the baseball cap on his dark curls. Grinning widely, Gaz heaved an exaggerated sigh.
“Lord,” he whined, trying to get the annoyance of Price. “Are we getting close to the base or not? I’m tired. I just want to get food. What are the chances we can stop somewhere? Price?”
There’s an undeniable shift in the Captain’s nature that’s almost comforting. Ash pauses a beat, watching as he leans back in his chair, more at peace now then she’s ever seen at least. It’s not exactly an unpleasant sight either and she watches him carefully as he speaks, appreciating the way his t shirt rests on the still very much defined chest underneath. Price might be older than a lot of the other guys on the base, but it’s not hard to notice that he’s still in shape. Hell, Ash has seen him practically run circles around some members of the 141 in training, soemthing she suspects he takes great pride in.
She’s not exactly complaining either. Nothing about Price is really for show, his body honed into its current state through dedication, determination and necessity. He’s all scars and lean muscle, weathered skin from a life mostly lived outside. The definition of an elite soldier who has experienced more than most soldiers could ever dream to.
How the hell could she stop herself from finding that attractive? It’s not lost on her that her thoughts are unprofessional, that a traditional man such as Price might even think less of her for thinking them. But damn, with the whisky in her system and the other pretty boys the 141 seems to enjoy recruiting, Ash isn’t sure she really cares anymore. She’s not felt a flicker of excitement and intrigue like this in years.
“MacMillan?” She quirks an eyebrow, registering the name. She doesn’t know the man on a personal level, but as another SAS legend turned public figure she’s heard about him plenty. A soft laugh slips from her lips. Of course Price knows him. “Now you’re just name dropping, John. I mean politician or not, that’s one hell of a powerful friend you’ve got there.”
In truth she shares his cynicism. Ash has never really been a career soldier; she’s always had a desire to lead but from the front-line rather than the safety of desk hundreds of miles from the action. She joined the military at the start looking for adventure that a pure engineering job could never provide, then stayed because the Marines became her world. She’d planned to leave before Mark started school, wanted to have a bigger family and a civilian life when her taste for adventure was well sated, but after the crash... that life had felt pointless. She’d returned to the Marines because she didn’t know where else to turn, had forced herself into Delta’s ranks because she needed that challenge to keep going. Now, she’s seen too much that she can’t help feeling cynical. She knows that she could schmooze her way into a higher position of authority, knows exactly whose ass she’d need to kiss in order to do it, but it simply doesn’t interest her. She wants to keep fighting, keep struggling until the last breath that leaves her body or until her body is too broken to keep on trying. She doesn’t truly know what comes after that, but it sure as hell won’t involve a desk.
There’s a part of her that wants to open up to Price about all that, but their conversation is light and friendly and she’s enjoying it too much to mention it. Instead she drains the last of her whisky from the glass and nods in approval to Price’s assessment.
“Keep on keeping on, right?” She smiles. “To be honest, I’ve known for a while that advancing any further isn’t my style. I’m no good with people, can’t read ‘em, can’t always even understand ‘em. Machines make sense at least. 141 and Delta aren’t getting rid of me in a hurry, no matter how much unreliable next generation tech they throw my way.”
He’s staring at her head on, the intensity in his eyes feeling like a playful challenge. In return, Ash holds his gaze, although she does allow a smile to spread across her lips, her eyebrows raising at his suggestion. Normally she hates the thought of anyone watching her work in the hangar, but somehow the thought of showing Price exactly what she’s capable of is an intriguing one.
“For you, I guess I can make an exception, since you share my love of old, unloved machinery at least.” She grins. “But only if you can handle getting your hands all kind of dirty. I’d hate to have Shepherd coming down on me for tarnishing one of the 141′s shining stars after all.”
Her glass is still empty and Ash decides she’s in no hurry to get herself to bed, even if in reality she really should. Instead she unscrews the cap of the whisky bottle and pours herself another measure, before holding it out to Price in silent invitation to join her.
“Fortunately for you, I’m a big fan of stone age seduction. Some might even call me a connoisseur.” A mischievous smirk accompanies the statement. “That being said, I think I need to hear a few more lines from your repertoire, just to be sure, y’know. That last one could have just been a lucky break.”
Her world is small these days, revolving around her work and a tight circle of friends. It’s not as though her days are without laughter; with Derek for a best friend that was nigh impossible. Not to mention that Rex shared her love of dry, witty humour and Blake... well, sometime he and Ash were so in tune that some of the time it just took a glance to send either one or both of them tumbling into laughter. However important, there was no denying the fact that those moments were something Ash had grown accustomed to. With her fellow team mates she was at ease, herself. They were able to pick her up at her worst and remind her of her best because they knew her better than anyone else on the planet.
Despite Metal’s close knit nature, Ash still struggled to do anything else but hold the rest of the world at arm’s length. It was a safety mechanism mostly, but the tactic brought with it an unpleasant feeling of wariness and unease around people she didn’t know well. It didn’t mean that Ash was incapable of laughing and enjoying herself with others, hell that pretty boy 141 sniper Toad had tried his hand many times at encouraging her to crack a smile, but the gesture always felt emptier, hollow. As though she was living through the motions, not else to fully let herself go for fear of the consequences.
Ash had been worried about those consequences for so long now that she was beginning to forget what they actually were.
And yet here she was, laughing and teasing with a man whose legend should have made her feel anything but relaxed. Of all people in the task force, Price was the man to fear, the man to watch your words around. He was ferocious, disciplined, dedicated. He wasn’t famous for being the life and soul of the party and yet neither was she.
Maybe that was it. Solid ground, an understanding, similar to how her friendship with Blake had first started. Two adults talking, sharing and fucking trusting because the sum of what they shared was greater than what separated them.
She’s as open as she can be with a person she barely knows and it feels incredible. Fucking liberating. In that moment, Ash decides that this is something she needs to make the most of.
“See, now I’m a little disappointed. Because I was thinking that when you get to your level, you get to pick and choose who gets close enough to brownnose?” She grins at him mischievously. “If you’ve got the pick of the bunch, keep the pretty ones. If they’re going to be down there anyway you might as well get something out of it, yeah?”
Oh God, Derek really is starting to rub off on her in the worst kind of ways.
“Delta bint, huh?” She quirks an eyebrow, an amused smile slipping across her features. “There’s few people brave enough to take on anything at the back of the hangar. Hell 141 mechanics seem to know their shit, but they’re more inclined to sit back and polish the General’s prized kit than do anything close to restoration. I figure that my sparkling personality isn’t about to leave me any legacies around here, but maybe my mechanic skills will.”
Her smile only gets bigger when he guesses right with the vehicle and she raises her glass in a silent toast, taking another measured sip of whisky.
“Got it in one. That thing’s special, a prototype from back when the US started the JLTV program to phase out the Humvees. It was one of the best options they had back in the day, but not cost effective so they went with a cheaper model.” She smiles again, an added brightness flickering in her eyes. “She’s beautiful under the hood, but rust will fuck anything over if you let it. I need to strip her, see what I can salvage. Maybe rebuild the rest from what we already have...” Tailing off, she realises just how much she’s started to ramble. “Shit. Rule number one, never let me have whisky and talk engines. I never stop.”
She’s feeling a little flustered now, caught between embarrassment and the realisation that even indirectly Price has just used the words ‘classiest arse’ to describe her. Clearing her throat, she feels blood flush the tips of her ears and her cheeks, her mind hoping beyond hope that the low light of the room is enough to hide her blushing. Instead she laughs, not daring to hope that Price might have been flirting with her, however mildly.
“Y’know, my ass has been described as many things, but classy has never been one of them.” She gives the Captain a taunting look. “That one of your chat up lines from way back when?”
She doesn’t normally partake and hell, a decade ago the thought of smoking had been enough to disgust her. But the military had changed her, for better and for worse and smoking now was a habit she couldn’t quite kick. Even so, she was strictly a cigarettes kind of gal, never patient nor curious enough to diversify her tastes. To be honest she’s never really been all that tempted.
Maybe it’s the cigar. Maybe it’s the man that’s smoking it. Either way, Ash decides to drink a little more whisky and suppress that particular thought process for now.
“Is the great Captain Price really asking me whether or not he’s special?” Feeling comfortable enough to tease him, she fills her voice with just a little false reverence. “One of us has all the right people trying to kiss their ass and it sure as hell isn’t me.” A rough smile as she sips at her whisky again. “... And to be honest, I don’t exactly envy you there.”
If she’d been more familiar with the Captain it would have been right about now that she would have rewarded his joke about her lack of patience with a firm slap to his arm, but instead she settles for an accepting laugh. Ash is famous for a lot of things, but her patience when it comes to people is not one of them and there’s no point trying to pretend otherwise. “... You have no idea how much I wanted to hit him. Smug bastard telling me what does and does not make a part essential for maintenance when he knows jack shit. But... I promised Rex that I’d play nice and so I just threw it hard enough to make the son of a bitch shit himself instead.” A smile flickers across her lips. “I wish Blake had filmed it.”
She’s settled now, the whisky dulling her inhibitions just enough to get her talking. She doesn’t normally find this easy, not with most people anyway. These days she’ll tell her team anything, but back in the day she was all closed off and closeted, happy to be thought of as a wall flower if it meant that she would be left alone and in peace. In reality she is anything but, the old, spontaneous Ash of her twenties still hidden somewhere underneath a heap of grumpiness and cynicism. She can probably count the number of people she lets her see that side of her on the one hand.
Apparently Price is now one of them. At least for tonight.
She’s about to follow up on his comments about Derek and Rex with a sarcastic rebuttal, but the wink Price throws in her direction throws her off guard. It’s not the action itself that surprises her, but rather that it is coming from him. He’s almost playful with her now and it’s not at all unpleasant... just surprising. Perhaps this is a fair trade, an opportunity for them to see different sides to each other, however momentary it might be. Either way, Ash isn’t exactly about to complain if it means that she can steal a little more of Price’s extravagant whisky.
“The same I guess?” She smiles, leaning back in her seat to stretch out her back and neck. She keeps her head tilted back against the couch’s head rest, turning so that she’s looking at Price. “Some nights when I’ve been stuck on base for just a little too long I find it hard to switch off... unwind. I try and be productive, do something useful at least.” She indicates at her still oil stained hands, remembering just how much of a state she must look to the Captain and laughing softly to herself. “But engines can be as stubborn as people and tonight was one of those nights. My original plan was to drink just enough whisky to get a little drunk and fall into my bunk but y’know...” She throws her own wink, accompanied by an ever so slightly teasing smirk in his direction. “... Now there’s an officer around and I’d like not to make an ass of myself if I can help it.”
30. Do they exercise?Regularly? Or only when forced? What do they act like pre-work out andpost-work out?
Back in Spetsnaz Yuriwas religious about his training. It was a way for him to focus, to gaincontrol over something, much like how he is about food now. He no longer hasthe diet and weight to support a heavy, daily workout but he tries to get somelight exercise done anyway. He will go for long walks, and do somesit-ups/push-ups whatever he’s in the mood for. He also tries to maintain hisclose-quarter-combat skills, but he doesn’t really have anyone to spar with.
31. Do they drink?What are they like drunk? What are they like hungover? How do they act whenother people are drunk or hungover? Kind or teasing?
Yuri does not drink. Eating disorders asidehis stomach is terrible, and he willvomit after 1-2 drinks, depending on what kind of alcohol he’s been served. Becauseof this he’s always been the sober friend, the one there to make sure everyonemakes it home safe. He can be a blessing or a curse to have around whenhungover; he’s a medic, and he knows a few tricks to help, but it requires thathe likes you.
Otherwise he may justlet you suffer.
32. What do they dresslike? What sorta shops do they buy clothes from? Do they wear the fashion thatthey like? What do they wear to sleep? Do they wear makeup? What’s their hairlike?
All of Yuri’s currentclothes are something he’s stolen from someone else, most likely either Nikolaior Soap, although it would not be out of the way for him to take a cardigan orsweater from Julia. It’s a couple of sizes too big, and either smells of cigars,diesel or coffee, depending on who he stole it from.
He’s been growing outhis hair; it is pitch black and thick, and due to Julia’s hard work it’s verysoft and nice to look at. He doesn’t do much to style it; at most he combs it inthe morning after waking up but otherwise just lets it sit.
33. What underwear dothey wear? Boxers or briefs? Lacey? Comfy granny panties?
He wears boxers, justplain boxers. Yuri couldn’t care less about it.
34. What is their bodytype? How tall are they? Do they like their body?
Yuri was prematurelyborn, and has been slow to develop. He was short and skinny as a child, whichonly got worse when developed an eating disorder in his late tweens - earlyteens. Finally at age fourteen he hit a growth spurt and shot into the air. Hegot healthier in his late teens and started to gain weight and muscle, onlygetting better when he in his twenties joined Spetsnaz.
After he left Makarovhe’s lost a great deal of weight.
He stands at a 1,85cm butweighs a mere 52kg, and while his appearance can be rather ghastly, all skinand bones, Yuri’s gotten used to it. He only gets self-conscious about itaround other people, especially people who aren’t used to be around him, peoplewho stare.
35. What’s theirguilty pleasure? What is their totally unguilty pleasure?
Yuri has a thing for Zack Snyder-movies, everythingfrom 300 to Man of Steel, which has developed into a thing for Superman. He willgladly engage in a two-hour discussion of the anti-war messages of Watchmen, but if asked why he has aSuperman-symbol tattooed on his finger he’ll promptly leave the room.
36. What are they goodat? What hobbies do they like? Can they sing?
He has a nice voice, adeep, crooning voice that’s only made better with his accent. Not that he exercisesit at all. The only music he listensto is instrumental, so catchy him singing in the hallways is unlikely. Juliacan sometime talk him into humming a tune for her, but it’s not something he’lldo for everyone.
He’s good withthrowing knives. He has a small collection of ten, custom-made knives that hegot from his mother. It’s a talent he’s been honing since he was a child. Hewill sometimes train on base, but he prefers to do it alone, so he’ll oftensneak out at night to do it.
37. Do they like toread? Are they a fast or slow reader? Do they like poetry? Fictional or nonfiction?
He studies medicine andlanguages in his spare time. Obviously he’s not involved with any kind ofschool, but he does as best he can on his own. He’s made a corner for himselfat the hangar where he can sit in safety near Nikolai, reading and taking noteswithout worrying about interruptions from anyone but Julia or Soap.
The only non-fictionbook he has is an old copy of Marina Tsvetaeva’s Poem of the End.
38. What do theyadmire in others? What talents do they wish they had?
Kindness. He admirespeople with the ability to stay kind in harsh times, people with the ability tosee the best in others despite past experiences. He can’t do it himself, so whenhe meets people like that he tries to treat them as best he can.
39. Do they likeletters? Or prefer emails/messaging?
Yuri has no email andno actual address. He can text but ittakes a year and a half for him to respond, so the easiest way to get incontact with Yuri is to ask Julia or Nikolai where he is, and then go and seehim.
40. Do they likeenergy drinks? Coffee? Sugary food? Or can they naturally stay awake and alert?
After Spetsnaz Yuri’sa natural at staying awake without help. He’s since also developed some issueswith falling asleep, meaning he is likely to stay awake late anyway.
Much like with alcoholYuri can’t stomach sugary and synthetic drinks. It makes him sick. He canstomach the smell of coffee only because it reminds him of Julia.
