Bitter Secrets | Part 10 One on One
tf141 x jack russel shifter reader
Word Count: 2.4k
Warnings: discrimination, violence, descriptions of illness and injuries, death and violence on the basis of discrimination, implied suicidal thoughts, brief mentions of torture
Summary: you never planned to reveal your identity to your team, however being trapped in a safe house with them for over a week may not allow you to keep your secrets hidden for much longer
A/N: my chronic pain has been an absolute BITCH this week which means i have had to work from home :/ at least i can use my normal commute time to do more writing
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It seems like hours before Soap returns with a bundle of clothes in his arms, every second you had sitting down in that dark hole feeling like an eternity. You manage a small sigh of relief when he finally comes back in sight, passing the clothes to you through the narrow opening.
“Thanks,” you murmur softly, grabbing the items with eagerness. It’s difficult to get the outfit on, the space not allowing much movement. You have to lie back on the dirt to shimmy the pants over your hips, hissing through your teeth at a sting in your back when you shift against the rough surface. Soap offers a hand once you are dressed, helping guide you out into the open with one hand while the other lifts some of the paneling upward to allow more space.
Your movements are clumsy as you right yourself, limbs stiff and sore now protesting being straightened fully. The sun scorches your eyes, forcing you to squint as you adjust to the change in lighting. Soap is moving to steady you instantly, watching your staggering movements with a pinched expression. His hand lands firmly between your shoulder blades, meant to be a form of support, instead it has you twisting away with a sharp yelp. The stab of discomfort you’d felt moments prior returns, only this time it is hotter, spreading in an intense wave along your spine. Before you can stop him he is hiking the back of your shirt up to look, one hand holding your shoulder firmly to keep you still.
“Fuck did ya do?”
“I uhh…” you shake your head, trying to remember the full events from the hours earlier, “must have hit it on the beams of something.”
“Hit-” he lets the shirt fall back down, stepping back into your line of sight, “you ‘ave a cut the length of my forearm ya’ eejit.”
You blink at him, “... I didn’t-”
You blink again, shaking your head in confusion until your eyes land on the hole Soap just pulled you through. “... the wood- I remember it dug in a bit when I went down there, I didn’t realise-”
“Jesus Christ,” Soap moves a hand to the back of your neck, steering you toward the office building, “team’s waitin’ for us, I’ll let cap know you need the medic.”
You don't have much choice but to fall in step beside him, allowing him to navigate you forward, “how bad is it?”
“Shallow, won’t need stitches at least,” his grip on your neck tightens momentarily in what you think is meant to be reassurance, but all it does is remind you of the feeling of someone's tight grip on your scruff.
“Soap could you-” your shoulders tighten in discomfort, “move your hand please.”
The man's footsteps slow, the hold he has on you loosening. His eyes sweep over the tension in your shoulders, the way your face has stiffened. With a slow nod he shifts to gently holding your bicep, not willing to let go completely with how unsteady you still look. “Tha’ alright instead?”
With a soft breath of relief you manage a small nod in return, “thanks.”
Soap hums softly, moving his gaze back to the path ahead as he again increases his speed. The two of you walk in silence for a few minutes, him staring pointedly ahead while you focus on steadying the ever fluctuating pace of your heart.
You break the silence with a soft voice, throat feeling tight as you do, “sorry for… disappearing.”
He hums, eyes flicking toward you in his peripheries briefly, “was a pretty stressful night.”
“Night? What do you mean?” you frown.
He fully looks at you then, brows narrowed as though you’ve said something in another language. His voice is slow when he speaks as if worried what he is about to say will frighten you, “... you’ve been gone since 3pm yesterday.
“Three-,” you cough violently, feet catching on the pavement as you stumble. “I thought it had been a few hours not…”
“A whole day,” Soap fills in.
You fall back into silence, trying not to spiral over the thought of losing that much time without realising. Soap seems to understand it’s best to stay quiet too, just concentrating on keeping you moving toward Price’s office. The hallways are relatively empty, which you are grateful for knowing the state you currently look. It doesn’t take long to reach the captain’s office, they door cracked slightly open allowing the sound of quiet discussion to float into the corridor. Soap releases his hold on you, pushing the door open and stepping inside. All eyes are on you in an instant, Price, Gaz and Ghost all pausing their conversation as you tentatively step into the room, pulling the door closed behind you. A white bandage is wound around Gaz’s palm, the sight making your stomach churn with shame.
Soap makes his way to Price, leaning close to murmur something in the man's ear. Soap nods toward you and you can only assume he is filling the captain in on the state he found you in. You shift from foot to foot, hands interlocked behind your back to stop yourself from fidgeting. Soap finally takes a step back, letting Price’s attention turn fully to you.
The captain taps his index finger on his desk twice, tilting his head to the side, “it’s time for a long overdue chat.”
You dig your nails into the palm of your hand, forcing your shifting feet still as you wait for him to continue.
With a sigh Price runs a hand through his hair, tilting back in his chair, "withholding your status as a changeling raises some serious concerns surrounding your reliability on this team, coupled with the incident yesterday raises some warning signs. Do you have anything you would like to clarify about your actions?”
You flinch at the term, head shaking as you look toward your shoes, “don’t call me that.”
“Excuse me?”
Your eyes flick to the captains, steely and firm. Your voice comes out sharp and unwavering, “I said don’t call me that, sir.”
His jaw ticks once, “we are discussing your future upon this team and you believe it’s a good time to correct my grammar?”
You take one step forward, nails digging into your palm harder as you stand firm, “I will not stand here and be demoralized. If you expect me to be grateful that you decided to keep me alive, to allow you to treat me as lesser now that you know what I am, then you may as well draft up my discharge papers because I would rather walk away completely than be the team's shit kicker.”
Four sets of eyes all locked on you, none of them saying a word. This would be the time most would back down and apologise, rather than jeopardise their entire career over a single word. But with everything that has happened yours is probably already up in flames, you owe it to at least advocate for yourself.
“.... sit down kid,” Price gestures to the empty chair in front of his desk.
“I’d rather-”
“Sit your arse down sergeant,” he orders, fixing you with a stare that has your heart stuttering. Slowly you slink into the seat, hands clenching together in your lap as the bravado evaporates as quickly as it had appeared.
“Rest of you, step out,” Price one hand at the other men, pointing them to the exit. That order shocks you. Your eyes widen as you watch the other three file out of the room without so much as a protest, the door clicking shut behind them.
“Talk.”
You swallow hard, voice catching roughly in your throat, “... what?”
“I’m not a mind reader kid. You don’t trust the team, can’t fix that unless you tell me why,” he leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other, “so talk, I’ll listen, we’ll go from there.”
You shrug, staring at the edge of his desk rather than meet his eyes directly, “I don’t know what to say.”
Price hums, tapping his desk lightly again, “start with why that word bothered you so much.”
With a sigh you sink further into the seat, shifting uncomfortably as the cut on your back protests, “... it’s not a kind term for people like me.”
He tilts his head in consideration, “like an insult?”
“Yeah, something like that,” you pinch and twist at the skin on the back of your hand, the slight discomfort bringing and odd sense of soothing.
“Right, I’ll make sure not to use it anymore.”
You freeze, wondering if for a second you misheard the man, “... just like that?”
Price nods, “it’s a simple request sergeant, would make me a right wanker to continue on saying it if the word makes you uncomfortable.”
There aren’t any words you can seem to form in response, so you elect to stay quiet. Price waits a few moments before speaking again, “we should talk about what happened In the humvee-”
“I don’t want to talk about that,” you say sharply.
If he was bothered by your tone he doesn’t show it, instead just narrowing his gaze in assessment, “you were somewhere else.”
You let out a surprised laugh, “... I don’t know what you-”
He holds up a hand to stop you, “I’m not asking for the full story, not right now. But I will need some sort of explanation to fully consider the likelihood of an incident like that occurring again, especially in the field.”
This entire conversation has your head in a spin, feeling like the world has flipped on its axis, “I don’t understand.”
“Understand what?” Price asks.
You shrug as if it’s obvious, “your angle. What are you hoping to get out of this?”
“Some clarity on our current predicament,” he speaks the words slowly, like talking to a child. That has something in your gut flickering with heat.
“Bullshit.”
He sighs, “Is it so unbelievable that there is no ulterior motive?”
“Yes,” you say bluntly. When he stares at you in a way that can only be described as at a loss, you continue to explain knowing he can’t deny it is you bring the situation to light, “you were all angry and now suddenly you're not… the only reason I can think of is you’ve got some sort of plan that requires my cooperation.”
“.... Sergeant, why do you think the team was angry with you?” he says quietly, expression softening.
“Because I’m a shifter. If you all had known you wouldn’t have put me on the team in the first place,” you say, chewing the inside of your cheek once you finish.
Price stares at you for what feels like a long time, causing you to shrink instinctively under his gaze. Maybe you shouldn’t have said anything. Price crosses his arms on the desk, leaning forward, “We were never angry with you kid, we were hurt that you not only lied to us but also put yourself at risk. Your illness was preventable, and allowing yourself to get to that bad a state affected not only you but the entire taskforce.”
That is…. Not the answer you were expecting. You don’t have long to contemplate before he continues, “I understand you didn’t have faith we would react to the news kindly, but your decision to withhold that information until you were almost requiring hospitalisation was, in the nicest way possible, idiotic.”
Price shakes his head, one hand lifting up in slight frustration, “we are all fortunate that this did not occur under worse circumstances. If we had been in an active combat zone, or unable to get medical, or god forbid you did more than just bite Gaz on the hand. It could have been far more detrimental.”
“So you all think I’m a liability now,” you murmur quietly.
The captain scoffs, “kid, we are worried about you. After everything that happened yesterday, do you want to know the first question Gaz had when I checked in on him at the infirmary?”
You don’t respond, instead swallowing down the lump in your throat.
Price nods his head toward the door the others had left through, “He asked if you were alright, and when I told him you were still missing he tried to head straight out to join the others looking for you. Had to order him to stand down. Hell Ghost and Soap would have been out there all night too unless I’d forced ‘em to rest.”
“...oh,” you feel as though your entire body is deflating.
He clears his throat, “You are a valuable asset to this taskforce, I would prefer you stay a part of it. However, if you can’t trust your teammates to have your back and disclose relevant information then perhaps it’s not the best spot for you.”
That has your breath catching in your throat, the reality of your situation careening down like a slab of concrete, “so you’re discharging me.”
“No,” he holds up a hand, “I’m giving you the opportunity to reflect on what you believe is the right step forward for yourself. I can’t make the decision of whether you trust us or not, it has to come from you.”
“But…” he sighs again, “if you do choose to stay, understand that will be on the condition that the entire team is brought up to speed on any information I deem necessary, that is non-negotiable. I will not have us blindsided again.”
Price scratches at the back of his neck, “I wish I could offer you as much time as you need, but you understand the nature of this job as well as all of us. The best I can give you is the week, if you haven’t made a call by then I will have to.”
“And what call will that be?” you ask quietly.
“By not making a decision, you would be making one anyhow. A non-committal is not a dedicated member of this team,” he pushes his chair back from the desk, stepping toward the door and pulling it open for you, “go get yourself cleaned up kid, and check in with the medic about your back.”
The hallway is empty when you step into it, and you don't know whether to be glad for the lack of stares, or if it is just a reminder of how alone you truly feel.
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