t141 + könig and their reaction to sleeping on the couch after an argument
—price
when you banish him to the couch, he could be one of two ways—mature and forces you to talk it out nicely or toxic, flat out refuses, and fucks you back to your senses.
the first way, when the words spill from your mouth, his shoulders slumped with dejection as he steps from the room. no point in arguing when you're worked up. after stewing in your anger for thirty or so minutes, he returns—armed with food—and talks it out with you.
the other way, he flat out refuses to sleep on the couch. i could see him manipulating you with the "I paid for that bed, and I'll sleep in it." you're stubborn, muttering something about you sleeping on the couch then, which is how you end up getting your brains fucked out.
—soap
I imagine soap just pushed your buttons way too much that day. you know how he is sometimes—over the top, hyper, and an all-around instigator. he was looking for a reaction, and he found it—just not the one he wanted.
immediately pouts, acting like a dejected child before he goes on to try and convince you to change your mind. real annoying about it too, doesn't give up until you're at your breaking point.
—kyle
the only one that I see actually accept his banishment with stride. he knows he made you upset, respects the boundary you placed with him and doesn't take it to heart. there's also a big possibility that, by the end of the night, you end up talking it out anyways like mature adults.
he knows you needed to get it out of your system, and you serving punishment to him did just that.
—simon
the second the words leave your mouth, he shuts down. you see the moment he deflates, doesn't try to reconcile, and just accepts it. he doesn't want to upset you further or make you more mad than you already are. simon doesn't respond well to domestic conflict.
the second his back hits the cushions? he's tossing and turning. he barely fits the couch to begin with, and you both learn you need each other to sleep—bonded like a pair of cats.
—könig
he's not fitting on the couch, and that's what makes it more satisfying. maybe he was being too persistent about his horniness, hands wandering too far until you snapped and threw your finger to the couch you know he can't fit.
he whines about it for sure, trying to whip you with puppy eyes and convince you to change your mind. he apologizes until you're sick of hearing it, allowing him back in bed just to get him to shut up.
A/N: Sorry I haven’t been here guys been going through some stuff. Plus I have NO idea what to write. But it’s Mothers Day so shoutout to everyone’s mom and to people who mothers have passed away💕 but yeah this is my first time doing TF141 as a whole so here ya go🙂↕️
·:༺ 🍂🧸🫖🤍 ༻:·
𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚎
To him mothers day was honestly just a regular day.
But when it came to you...
Oh.
He made sure that you had the best most relaxing day.
When you woke up. It was like you were a queen.
Flowers on the nightstand.
Morning kisses.
Your favorite food.
Most importantly calls and texts from your family.
Your whole day was showered and filled with joy.
Now its late in the evening.
Price is at work.
Even though it was Mother’s Day he still had a job to do.
Your just reminiscing. Looking around the house.
It’s perfect. The way you picked it out.
Wooden floors. Price picked.
White Ceilings. Price picked.
The decor. Yours.
Everything around the house. All. Yours.
You think about it for a while.
Your eyes swelling up with tears.
Not of sadness.
But of happiness.
That he chose you.
And you chose him.
Neither one of you would ever change your life.
Even for a million bucks.
Not even if this day was just a regular day.
·:༺ 🍂🧸🫖🤍 ༻:·
𝚂𝚒𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚁𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚢
He didnt just celebrate with flowers.
Gifts.
Cards.
Or even teddy bears.
Although, he did get you that stuff ironically.
But he celebrated by cooking.
Doing your favorite things.
Letting you do things with him he would never do in his life.
He even took Sophia out so it would be ultimate relaxation.
She didnt really mind.
She loved her dad as much as she did you.
The rest of the day included him taking care of everything.
Like he always did.
To you, it was a regular day.
Just with more,
Love.
Gifts.
and silence...
At the end of the day. Thats how everyday life is.
He makes sure your never stressed.
Worried.
Even tired.
You wouldnt even care.
Even without the flowers.
·:༺ 🍂🧸🫖🤍 ༻:·
𝙺𝚢𝚕𝚎 𝙶𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚔
To show his love and appreactation as he put it.
He woke you up and took you out to eat.
Although you were grumpy.
You were really grateful.
After you two go home. With nothing else to do.
You lay on the couch cuddling.
Which reminds of you of the days where you two just met.
No money.
Not a lot in common.
But a connection.
A connection that drove into 2 years being engaged.
Then married.
Add on a kid.
Who wants to be exactly like his dad.
Thats the Garrick family.
Where love and appreactation never goes out.
But on this day is shown even more.
For you it was like life couldnt get better.
You guys watched movies.
Went out to the park.
Just did activites as a regular family of 3.
When it was late in the evening.
He had an surprise he suddenly came up with.
With the surprise took an hour long drive.
The surprise was: a trip to see the sunset.
Its amatuer sure.
But its something he knew you always wanted.
Kaden was asleep in the back of Gaz's truck.
And you two were sitting on the tailgate.
Your head on his shoulder. Smiling.
This Mothers Day was a great one.
Where is love and appreactation as he so put it.
Is never ever forgotten.
·:༺ 🍂🧸🫖🤍 ༻:·
𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗𝚗𝚢 𝙼𝚌𝚝𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚑
His whole mission for this Mothers Day was to make you laugh.
In which he did. Multiple times.
Funny cards. Silly faces. Even having Liam joining in.
141 with a crunchy reader, insisting the boys eat the healthier alternatives of their favorites.
swapping johnnys favorite protein shake — which is honestly an inslut to all your work, with all the unnecessary additives and whatever else they threw in there for the hell of it — for a far better one you found at the local grocery store. reccomended by the old woman who ran the place with a tight hold.
he whines everytime, so you make up for it in little kisses across his face. and let him 'help' as you conjur up the smoothie every morning before hes off for the gym.
"dragging" simon along to the farmers market. even though you know he secretly loves it, quietly interacting with locals and watching you slip into a pretty lil summer dress. he always offers the best advice when it comes to picking the freshest produce. and his arms look great when carrying your pickings in reusable bags.
he couldnt wait to see you waddle around the makret with a plump belly. maybe another kid already holding his hand.
watching john knead dough against the kitchen counter. sprinkling spices in whilst the gooey dough sticks to his thick fingers. laughing when you blow flour into his face, giggling as you take off when he lands a flour print to your behind.
it was then he learned flour was a bitch to get out of facial hair, but your pretty smile sure made up for the mess.
kyle was by far the most well behaved. regularly sending you vidoes of new foods to make at home, waking up early to water the garden so you didnt have to. speaking of, he found gardening, specifically with you, calmed him down the most. taking time to care for plants, pride swelling as you carried baskets of home grown goods into the house. some domestic part of him loved it. probably got it from price.
he loved how gentle you were with the chickens. cooing at them as you asked to take their eggs. made him wonder what you were gonna be like when you finally had a kid running about. maybe several.
their favorite though, was the little notes youd attach to meals youd send with them whenever they were deployed.
Anti-social, uber-secretive Ghost is quite clearly the most stubborn when it comes to getting checkups. He learnt to be independent and self-sufficient, so unless he’s got five bullet holes and two stab wounds, you won’t find him voluntarily going near the medbay with a ten-foot-pole. He’ll also make stupid sarcastic (and quite concerning) jokes about worse injuries he’d seen in the past.
I feel Soap would be the opposite — he’s quite the flirt, so getting ‘felt up’ by the nurses would most likely make his day. He is also the kind of guy to purposely hurt himself with the sole intention of receiving coos and special attention. Overall, though, the moment he gets severely injured, he’s holing himself up in his barracks and not letting anyone — not even his favourite nurse — help him out.
Gaz would be the unexpected stubborn one, I think. After being so thoroughly trained by Price and so eager to follow in his footsteps, he wouldn’t want to show weakness where possible. Fortunately for him, he soon grows fond of one medic in particular, and suddenly he’s okay with going to the medbay again — much more agreeable than he had been previously.
Then there’s Price. He’s such an old man that he doesn’t even bother hiding his wounds anymore. He’ll downplay them, of course he will, but at the end of the day he’d rather not die, and losing a lot of blood makes him feel ill. So the moment that someone calls him out, he’ll sigh and mope but will secretly enjoy the care and comfort of the medbay and nurses.
X reader, but the reader is patient zero and I wanna read the way their skin rots, and how flesh feels beneath their teeth. I wanna see spit and drool and how anyone who tried to ‘keep reader because they recognize him’ type complex but the reader is just animalistic
A reader who likes the way people are scared 🙏
Another one shot pls tag me I need to read stuff like this that evicts fear in the other characters, I don’t wanna be a scared reader
Summary: She always had a unique ability, but she was never able to change fate. But that night she did, and now she has to deal with the consequences.
Warnings: description of death, soap almost dies, profanity, medical jargon, use of Yn.
It happened fast. As always.
It started at her feet, a sudden weight, as if her bones had turned to lead, pinning her to the ground. The sensation climbed up her legs, snaking like poison ivy, twining around her flesh with a force that made her clench her teeth. When it reached her torso, it was invisible claws tearing her apart, ripping muscle and skin, only to rebuild her moments later, leaving only the echo of pain. Her arms burned, every nerve ablaze, as if someone had plunged them into lava. She tried to scream, but the sound died in her throat.
Then came the head.
A monstrous pressure, as if her skull were being crushed between the jaws of a beast. Her eyes burned, like acid seeping through her corneas, her vision darkening in blurry patches until only emptiness remained.
But it wasn't darkness. It was something worse.
A vision.
The sound of Price disarming the bomb echoed in the background. Soap was near him. The first shot rang out like thunder. Makarov, like a coward, shot Soap in the back. He fell, but only briefly, soon getting back up and trying to stop Makarov from reaching the bomb.
And then she saw it.
The exact moment the bullet left the barrel of Makarov's gun. The deadly trajectory. The clean impact on Johnny's temple.
Instant death.
His body colliding with the ground. Ghost's hoarse scream. Price's broken voice.
POW
The recoil of her own weapon shook her wrist. The vision dissipated like smoke, bringing her back to the present with her heart pounding.
It wasn't the first time. Since childhood, whenever someone she loved was about to die, that agony would overwhelm her, followed by the vivid image of their fate. Her parents. Her grandparents. Now… Johnny.
Before, she had been powerless. There was no way to stop a runaway truck or a sudden heart attack.
But this time?
This time, she could change something.
And she did.
"JOHNNY!" Her cry tore through the air, without concern for protocols or code names. He turned to her, but that wasn't what mattered. Makarov emerged from his hiding place like a shadow, his shot hitting Soap in the back, who fell exactly as in the vision.
Seconds. Everything came down to seconds now.
His feet pounded the concrete in the same frantic rhythm as his heart. He saw Soap rise, fighting Makarov, the scene unfolding like in his nightmare.
Makarov immobilized Soap's arm with a brutal hold, while his other hand drew the pistol from its holster. The light danced on the polished barrel like a deathly smile.
His heart raced. His steps became quicker, more determined. Shooting was risky; from his angle, he could hit Soap.
The gun barrel approached Soap's head. Time slipped through his fingers like sand in an hourglass.
He could hear the internal mechanism of Makarov's gun preparing. His mind was invaded by flashes of the vision: Johnny on the ground, his blue eyes lifeless.
His body reacted before his mind.
With a fluid movement, he threw himself against Soap, knee to his chest pushing him away. The icy barrel now pressed against his own temple.
POW
Johnny and Yn fell to the ground at the same time.
"NO…!" Price's scream echoed off the concrete walls. Johnny tried to catch his breath, but with the shot in his back and the knee to his chest, it was as if he was relearning how to breathe.
"PRICE! YN!" Ghost's hoarse scream immediately reminded Johnny of the reason for his fall. Yn.
"ENEMY ADVANCING!" another soldier shouted in the background.
Johnny heard the hail of gunfire happening at the same time as his body was being pulled by someone. Gaz.
He was still disoriented, but he managed to see Price looking at where he had been before… Well, where Yn was now.
His vision was blocked by Ghost's body. He could see the Lieutenant moving, but what he didn't understand was why he wasn't dragging [Name] to them. They were both exposed there, amidst the hail of gunfire.
"Ghost! Bring her here!" he shouted, trying to sit up, but Gaz stopped him.
It was then that Johnny truly looked at Price and Gaz. Death was in his eyes.
"Ghost?!" he sat up despite Gaz trying to keep him on the ground. "YN, what's your status?!" he shouted, now looking at his friend's legs. "YN, YOUR STATUS!"
"I NEED EVAC NOW!" Ghost replied, his voice thick and almost desperate.
"She's alive?!" Gaz questioned, surprised. He saw the gunshot wound YN had taken, the way she fell to the ground, lifeless.
"EVAC NOW!!!"
Her dress looked like it came straight out of a fairy tale. The sweetheart neckline subtly drew attention to her breasts, while the straps glided smoothly over her shoulders, like silk threads escaping from a loom. A delicate necklace, adorned with a sparkling stone, highlighted the elegant line of her neck.
The corset molded her torso perfectly, flowing into a majestic skirt, white as the first light of morning. Without exaggerated volume, the fabric followed her silhouette like a second skin, transforming her into a living sculpture. The front slit revealed, with each step, the white heels that echoed in the solemn silence.
A veil hung over her face like frost on a wheat field, light, impalpable, immaculate.
In her hands, a bouquet of white flowers radiated purity, except for a single red rose in the center, red as fresh blood. Her fingers trembled towards her, the velvety texture of the petals strangely rough under her touch.
"What is it, darling?" a familiar voice made her body spin before her mind could even process it. Wearing an impeccable black suit, with a white flower in the pocket. His hair, freed from that fishing hat, was now neatly styled, as was his carefully trimmed beard. His eyes shone sweetly, moist, an ocean of paternal love directed only towards her.
"Didn't you like the bouquet?" he intertwined his hands with hers, warm and firm.
"It's not that… It's just… this rose… Isn't it strange?" her voice came out in a whisper, almost a premonition.
"Oh, that'll be fixed quickly!" with an agile gesture, he plucked the red flower and let it fall to the ground. "There!"
"Thank you… Now it's perfect." her lips curved into a smile as he caressed her cheeks.
"You're the one who's perfect." her eyes closed for a moment, as if trying to contain her emotion. "You're going to make this old man cry…"
"I think you're already crying." she wiped away the tear that stubbornly trickled down his beard, salty and warm.
The first chords of the wedding march broke through the air, announcing their entrance.
"That's our cue." he commented, extending his arm to her. "You don't want to keep your groom waiting, do you?" She clung to him, her fingers sinking lightly into the fabric of his suit.
The church doors opened solemnly, revealing the altar.
It was a divine dream.
White petals danced in the air along with the sunbeams filtering through the stained glass. A red carpet, as red as the rose, cut across the aisle. The pews were filled with indistinct figures, nameless faces, shadows without memory.
Her father led her down the aisle, past columns of white flowers, each stained with a red rose at its center. Some were already wilting, petals fallen like coagulated blood trickling from an open wound.
The sound of her heels on the carpet reminded her of something strange, a gunshot with each step. She couldn't hear them perfectly; the music grew louder and louder.
Until it fell silent when she found him waiting at the altar.
He was there, under the arch of intertwined white flowers, always white, always with a red stain in the center, and even without the balaclava that usually hid his face, Yn would recognize him anywhere. His blond hair, bathed in the light of the stained glass, seemed almost translucent, like strands of molten gold. The scars that snaked across his skin were not flaws, but marks of stories she had learned to decipher with her lips on silent nights.
And that smile. That smile. So subtle, almost imperceptible, but it made her stomach clench in a way that neither fear nor desire could explain.
Her father stopped at the edge of the altar, gently turning her body so that he could give her one last goodbye. A kiss on her forehead covered by the veil, a goodbye to his little daughter.
Her fiancé, Simon, took a short step forward, taking her hand to guide her to the altar beside him.
"Take care of her, Simon," she heard her father say. "I'll, John. With my life," he replied immediately.
She stepped forward, her dress gliding across the red carpet, while their fingers intertwined.
Beneath the arch of flowers, Simon carefully removed the veil from her face before sliding his hands back to meet hers.
With the veil no longer in sight, she could look around the church one last time. The distorted, blurry faces that had watched her enter were still present, but specifically beside Simon and beside her, there were two faces as clear as the colors in her fiancé's eyes.
Johnny and Kyle. Both wearing dark suits, Kyle with a white flower in his pocket and Johnny with a red flower behind his ear, something that made his smile falter slightly.
Something in Johnny's eyes made everything flicker. As if it weren't right. As if a flash of reality invaded that beautiful dream. One specific image flashed more strongly: his father wearing combat gear, just like Johnny and Kyle. Simon? He was wearing a mask again.
When did he stop wearing the mask?
The priest spoke, his words echoing like a distant mantra, but all she heard was the sound of her own blood in her temples.
"I do." It wasn't the voice that brought her back to reality, it was the kiss.
Sweet. Light but intense. A real danger to anyone.
The soft music filled the hall as he pulled her to the center. His arms enveloped her like careful claws, and she let herself go, her body molding to his as if they had always danced like this.
"You're trembling…" he observed, his lips close to her ear, daring to leave kisses on her neck.
"When did we get here?" she asked, genuinely confused. There was a kiss, they were at the altar, and now on a dance floor.
He didn't answer.
"What's happening?" Her fingers gripped the fabric of his tuxedo, trembling with both strength and fear. The dance floor was that frightening red again. Something wasn't right. Something wasn't right.
They spun slowly among the petals falling from the ceiling. White. Always white. But when Yn looked at the floor, she swore she saw them tinged with red, as if each one absorbed the blush of the carpet.
"Just look at me," he asked, softly and calmly as if he didn't see what was happening. She swore she could see something strange in him, a flash of a reality where he wore a surgical mask. "Nothing else matters except now."
"I'm scared," she murmured so softly and so frightened that she surprised herself with her own tone.
In response, Simon simply kissed her again.
His kisses trailed down her neck while his hands roamed all over her body. She lay there, her wedding dress thrown on the floor of the honeymoon suite.
It happened again. One second she was in one place and the next… in a different place.
"I love you." He groaned in her ear, their hands intertwining, their wedding rings gleaming in the suite's yellowish light. Simon moved his hips rhythmically, going deep and hard, always touching her cervix as if even his lower head wanted to leave kisses inside her.
"I love you too! "she replied between moans. It was difficult to comprehend when her mind was about to explode in a delicious orgasm.
Her body trembled like an electric shock directly to her heart. Her throat released the longest moan, but it couldn't be heard, as if something was blocking her mouth. In a flash, the suite's yellowish light turned white and sterile, like a hospital.
Simon lifted his head from her neck, smiling as he joined their lips again in a deep kiss.
Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep
That damned alarm clock rang right next to her ear, loud and without pause, in the same rhythm as a heartbeat. Her heart, she could only feel it thanks to Simon's heavy body on top of her.
She tried to move, tried to get out of there, but that big man seemed to weigh a ton. She was trapped. Immobile, listening to that damned and irritating sound.
Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep
The sound of the alarm clock pierced her ears like a needle.
Rhythmic. Relentless.
She tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids weighed like iron doors. She tried to scream, but that same sensation came over her throat, as if something was preventing her from speaking. A strange smell burned her nostrils like alcohol.
" Yn?! Yn!" Simon shouted, seeing his heart monitor rising rapidly.
She had been in the ICU for weeks, and Simon refused to leave her, as did Price, Johnny, and Kyle. Unfortunately, the ICU couldn't accommodate more than one person at a time, so they took turns. John witnessed the surgery. Johnny saw her receive blood transfusions. Kyle saw her suffer cardiac arrest, needing a shock to revive her. Simon saw her being intubated, breathing only with the aid of machines.
Her eyes snapped open like a gunshot, barely caring that the sterile white light was shining directly in her face. Her body thrashed like a fish out of water. Her throat fought against that damned tube that was suffocating her; she couldn't scream or speak for help. The sound of the machines connected to her was loud, announcing that something was amiss.
Her hands immediately went to the tube stuck in her mouth; her instinct told her to rip it out, but she was stopped by two large hands grabbing hers. Simon.
He was sweating through his mask, a black one that covered only his mouth and nose, and a black cap that hid his hair. His eyes held a mixture of joy and despair as he looked at her; his hand was bare of any wedding ring.
"No! Don't remove the tube!" he said firmly, but she saw the desperation in his tone. And he, his tears of suffocation. "Don't fight. It's alright…" he assured her, slowly lowering his arms, forcing her to stay still. "The nurses are coming… It's alright," she tried to say, but nothing came out, at least he understood. "I'm here, it's alright…"
The nurses and physiotherapists came next, quick enough to turn off the ventilator and remove the tube from her throat. Simon never let go of her hands. Her cough was immediately met by Simon, who gave her water while helping her sit up.
He tried to pull away, but her hand intertwined with his prevented it. As if paralyzed, the man simply stared at his clasped hands, ignoring the nurses walking around the room, taking new vital signs from Yn, who was still catching her breath.
"The doctor will speak to her soon…" the last of the nurses said before leaving and closing the door.
"Price is coming… He's angry that you didn't wait for him to wake up," Simon joked, watching the woman bring her other hand to her head, finding the gauze bandages wrapped there. "He has an ugly scar… Luckily your hair covered it all. You didn't even need to shave it."
"He was always a concerned father," Yn murmured, ignoring Simon's comment about her hair.
"What?"
"How is he? Johnny?" she asked, ignoring Simon's question.
"He's fine… What did you say about Price?" Simon didn't hide his confusion, pulling up a chair to sit next to Yn. His hand gripped hers as if her fingers were made of steel. Simon thought it was a kind of mental confusion due to the sedation he was under, not knowing how to react properly, he chose only to listen to her.
"I told you he's always been a worried father… Where's your wedding ring? I understand I'm not wearing my ring, but why are you? Did you think I was dead already?" she said, looking at his hand, searching for the ring between Simon's fingers, not even seeing its mark there.
Simon looked at her as if expecting something, a laugh that indicated a joke he didn't understand perhaps. But nothing, Yn was serious.
"Yn…" Price's voice made her smile immediately. He seemed tired, as if he hadn't been sleeping well. He wasn't wearing his hat, much less a suit like in her memories. He was wearing more casual clothes, just like Simon.
"Dad…" her voice seemed fragile, but both men there knew she was anything but fragile. They knew, moreover, that John Price wasn't her father, much less that Simon was her husband. "Where's Johnny?! Couldn't he visit his sister in the hospital?!" And Kyle?!" Johnny and Kyle weren't her brothers. "Why are you two looking at each other like that? Did someone get shot in the head? Besides me, obviously.
The silence that followed was heavier than anything, sharper than any scalpel. Price and Simon exchanged a quick glance, a silent dialogue that yn couldn't decipher.
Luckily, she didn't need to, as someone else entered the room. The neurologist in charge of her.
"Sergeant yn, good to see you awake. How are you?" he began, taking a small flashlight from his pocket and shining it into her eyes. Immediately her body flinched, trying to hide behind Simon, who only looked at Price, a silent plea for help. "My name is Doctor Richard, you'll probably see me quite a bit in the coming days," he joked. "Do you gentlemen mind leaving so I can assess the Sergeant?" the doctor asked, looking at Price and Simon, who immediately agreed.
"Simon? Why are you leaving? Shouldn't you stay?" she asked, confused; he was her husband, he should stay.
"I'll call Johnny and Kyle, I'm sure they want to see you." He responded with the most believable lie he could think of, but yn didn't seem suspicious. Which was even more frightening.
They both waited outside the room. Johnny and Kyle arrived quickly; they were already nearby. Price was responsible for recounting what had happened; Simon just stared at the door, as if the white-painted wood had personally offended him.
As soon as the door opened again, the four looked at the doctor, demanding answers.
The doctor adjusted his glasses, his impassive face contrasting with the anguish in the four men's eyes. yn's heart monitor was still emitting irregular beeps, echoing through the empty corridor.
"What the Sergeant is experiencing is a rare combination of dissociative amnesia and confabulation," he explained, lowering his voice. "Her brain, when hit by the bullet, suffered damage to the medial temporal lobe. The region responsible for consolidating recent memories and contextualizing experiences."
"So… " Johnny rubbed his hand across his face, as if trying to understand those complex words. "She invented that we're a family?"
"Not exactly. She's piecing together fragments of memory with what's most precious to her. "The doctor looked at Price. "Captain Price as a father figure, you and Sergeant Garrick as siblings… I'd venture to say that the Sergeant has some romantic feelings for you, Lieutenant, since she sees you as"
"As a husband." Ghost finished, his voice hoarse beneath the mask. His fists were clenched, the scars on his fingers more visible than ever.
"Is this permanent?" Price rubbed his beard, looking at the room through the window. Yn was sitting on the bed, touching the bandage on her head with childlike curiosity.
"Hard to say…" The doctor paused briefly before continuing. "The brain is plastic, it can reorganize its connections and in extreme cases, create new ones… But… - Richard sighed." I must say, I've never seen a situation like the one the Sergeant is experiencing.
"What if… we tell the truth?" Gaz asked, taking a small step forward. "Wouldn't that help?"
"Risky. Her current state is a protective mechanism. Breaking it abruptly could cause damage to her psyche. It could lead her to a state of psychosis or worse." The sound of breaking glass interrupted the explanation. From the room, Yn was screaming.
Simon ran first, finding the woman kneeling on the floor by the bed, her hand covered in fresh blood from the cut on her palm, the glass from the cup scattered around her.
"I-I tried to stan up…" she murmured as an explanation to Simon, who lifted her from the floor with all the care he could muster. The Doctor immediately sprang into action, pressing a button on the wall to call nurses while he stopped the bleeding from the woman's hand.
Simon held Yn firmly, but without hurting her, while the doctor pressed a clean cloth against her palm. Blood trickled between her fingers, bright red against her pale skin. Her eyes were glazed, as if she were seeing something beyond that hospital room.
"She'll need some stitches," the doctor said, looking at Simon as if he were truly responsible for her.
"Will you stay with me? Please?" she said, looking at him immediately. Her free hand gripped Simon's dark jacket as if he were going to save her from something.
Simon looked at the doctor, then at Price; both gave him a small nod, an order to follow his role as husband.
"Of course I'll stay, my love," he replied, watching her snuggle into his body while the doctor and nurses worked on the stitches in her hand.
"I'd like to do some more tests and exams, if you'll allow me," the doctor said, looking at Simon and her. "I want to make sure what's happening is what I think it is."
"Alright…" she murmured a reply, her eyes looking tired, her body almost entirely supported by Simon, who seemed as still as a statue. "Do I have any discharge date? I want to go home soon…" Luckily, her eyes were closed, as Simon immediately looked at Price with a clear plea for help.
The doctor carefully finished stitching Yn's hand while Simon held her tightly, feeling the weight of her body against his. She was exhausted, but still fighting sleep, as if she feared what she might find when she closed her eyes again.
"Sergeant," Dr. Richard began, wiping his gloves before approaching. "We'll need to keep you hospitalized for a few more days to run some tests."
"But I feel fine…" Yn frowned, looking at Simon as if he could dispute that.
"I know, but we need to make sure there are no complications," the doctor smiled, trying to reassure her. "And when you're discharged, you'll need home care. Someone will have to stay with you 24 hours a day, at least for the first few weeks." She looked at Simon again, waiting for an answer.
"I'll take care of her," he said immediately, without hesitation. Yn looked at him, a small smile spreading across her face, and snuggled closer to his shoulder. Price and the others exchanged glances. It wasn't a decision that should be made like this, but no one there was going to argue. Not now.
"Great," the doctor wrote something on his clipboard. "I'll schedule an MRI for tomorrow. For now, rest."
Yn didn't seem satisfied, but she also didn't have the energy to argue. Her eyes were too heavy for her to have the energy to retort.
"Simon…" she murmured, almost asleep. "Promise you won't leave?"
"I promise," he replied, helping her lie back down on the stretcher. He saw how she immediately took his hand, preventing him from leaving.
Of course, this wasn't difficult for someone like him. As soon as his breathing and heartbeat were stable enough for him to understand that he had fallen asleep, Simon got up and left the room, as did his companions, needing to discuss some things.
"So?" Johnny crossed his arms. "Are we really going to let her believe this story?" His tone was incredulous, and at the same time, confused.
"We have no choice," Price replied, rubbing his forehead. "Until we know what really happened in her head, it's best not to risk it."
"And if she finds out the truth?" Gaz looked at the bedroom door, worried.
Silence.
Simon clenched his fists, feeling the weight of that lie. He wasn't her husband. He never had been. But now, somehow, he had become responsible for keeping this illusion intact.
"We'll deal with it if it happens," Ghost finally spoke, his voice hoarse and firm. "Until then, we'll stick to the story."
"That means that"
"That I'll be her husband, you'll be her brothers, and Price will be her father." he continued, interrupting what Johnny was about to say. Price nodded, but there was something in his eyes, something between guilt and sadness. "I need someone to go to Yn's house and take her things to mine. We need to make her believe we're really married. And"
"She needs rings." Gaz nodded, looking at Ghost, anticipating two words.
"Right. Should we really do this? " Johnny asked, looking at his friend through the bedroom window; she was sleeping so peacefully…
"We have no choice." Price replied instead.
Johnny and Gaz moved; both had their tasks and would have to complete them before Yn was discharged.
Price and Ghost exchanged a suspicious look, as if the Captain was analyzing Simon like never before.
"I'd better go back. She might wake up." he said, taking a step towards the door, but Price stopped him.
"Don't forget, Simon… This isn't real." The older man didn't want to hurt him with his words, only to bring reality back to Simon's eyes. Even though the Lieutenant had never said anything about his feelings, somehow Price knew. And because he knew, he was afraid Simon would get lost in the lie.
Summary: She had been there for a long time, trapped with no way out. But when she saw the opportunity, she couldn't miss it.
Warnings: graphic description of a prisoner of war, description of injury, amnesia, use of medical terminology, use of Yn. Possibly profanity.
Her wrists were already raw from the ropes that bound her. Her ankles weren't in better shape, but instead of ropes, it was a heavy metal chain that held her to a wall. The floor beneath her was cold, contrasting with the infernal heat surrounding her; at least she wasn't under the sun, but in a kind of shed where they tortured their prisoners. Where her team tortured her in front of her. Her captain dead right in front of her.
She still had his blood under her fingernails, still had vivid scars on her own skin for having allowed him to die, when her job there was to prevent the torture they inflicted from killing their prisoners so easily.
That was the only reason she was there. That was the only reason she was still alive, but at what cost? Saving lives only to see them begging for death at the hands of these monsters? Trying to survive when she knew no one would come to save her? What was the point?
Unfortunately, all around her were old pools of blood, the chain on her ankle wasn't long enough to tie around her neck, and the ropes on her hands were too tight for her to loosen. She had no escape but to wait for death from dehydration or malnutrition.
By her calculations, she should have been trapped there for twenty days (but her sense of time was impaired each time she fainted), surviving only on the crumbs and scraps the soldiers threw her way while mocking her condition.
Her fainting spells were constant; it was obvious that her death wasn't far off. For many, this would be terrifying, but for her, it gave her the comfort she needed to keep waiting.
The sounds of gunfire made her eyes open and her fear of death fade. That meant something new, at least.
The sounds were close, close enough for a bullet to hit the wall from where it was, causing a small hole through which sunlight passed.
The door was forced open by a black boot. Its weak braid didn't hold, yielding to the force of the kick and allowing four men to enter, one of them being carried.
The man with his head down had a dark mohawk, his eyes barely opened, and judging by the bloodstain running from his abdomen to his legs, he clearly didn't have much time left. The man helping him walk was large and wore a skull mask; another wore a fisherman's hat. The other, guarding the backs of the three, wore a dark cap that partially covered his face. They were all laden with weapons and ammunition in their vests, clearly military-grade.
"Let's lay him down!" the man with the hat said. None of them seemed to notice they weren't alone; their focus was entirely on the man with the mohawk.
"We have to call for medical backup!" the man with the skull shouted.
"You think I haven't already?! With those men out there, they'll take a while!" the man with the hat retorted.
"He doesn't have much time, Price!" the man with the skull retorted.
"We have to remove the bullet!"
"If you do that, he'll die in three minutes." she murmured, almost too weak to say it aloud. But they heard her, and reflexively, their weapons were pointed in her direction.
"Who are you?!" the one in the hat, Price, asked rudely. It was obvious they were worried about the dying man in their arms, but it was also quite clear that if she made any sudden movement, she would die immediately.
"I… I… " her mind was confused. The lack of food and water caused clouds to block her brain and prevent her from answering the simplest question. Who was she? Her name? She knew she was a doctor, but what was her role there?
"You don't know your fucking name?!" the masked man managed to be even ruder than the other.
"I know the bullet is near the intestine. If not inside. Which means he's going to die anyway." she replied, leaning her body against the hot wall. The man in the dark cap raised a flashlight towards her; the light immediately made her whole body recoil in panic at being seen.
"How long have you been here?" he asked after exchanging glances with his companions.
"I don't know… Twenty days?"
"Judging by your appearance, I'd say months." the masked man retorted. That small comment made her question if things were really that bad. She didn't have a mirror or anything to reflect her reflection; the only thing near her was a bucket that her kidnappers had been kind enough to give her. It was emptied every three days, not that she did much to it anyway. Her body retained as many nutrients as possible, after all.
"I'm a medic from the 107th battalion." she said, not taking her eyes off them.
"Can you save him?" the man with the cap asked.
"Not tied to the wall." she retorted, showing the chain that held her there. Once again, an exchange of glances, and then the man with the skull walked towards her. Her body instinctively recoiled; the closer he got, the more she could see his true size.
"If we let you go, you'll save him." It wasn't a question, much less a condition. He was stating it, and she could only think about what the consequence would be if she disobeyed.
"Look at me, do you think I have any choice? " she retorted, facing the reality of her situation.
"Ghost, bring her here." Price called to them both. Before she could say anything else, she felt the man's gloved hand grab her arm, lifting her off the ground as if it were nothing, before walking over to his fallen companion.
"That cabinet has what I need." she said, pointing to a rusty cabinet with broken doors, while her trembling hands moved the clothes out of the way so she could see the wound properly.
"Gaz." Price only needed to say her name for the man in the cap to move and grab absolutely everything from the cabinet, returning to the woman's side and handing her the materials.
"Thank you." she replied, taking the alcohol and pouring it on her own hands, making sure they were clean before properly touching the wound, which caused the man to shout insults she couldn't understand, but her colleagues could. Price held his shoulders firmly on the ground, while Gaz (the one with the cap) did the same with his legs. Ghost was out of her field of vision, but something told her he was in her shadow.
Being closer, she could truly analyze the wound and her means of saving him, and luckily, the wound wasn't deep enough to hit any organs; the bullet was lodged in the muscle, which was an excellent sign. The bullet being there meant it could be removed, and she could simply suture it. It also meant she could use that to get out of there.
"Why did you stop?!" Price questioned, seeing that the woman's hands were no longer moving. She felt the cold barrel of a gun against the crown of her head; Ghost certainly had less patience than her captain.
"I want to get out of here," she said, looking at the man. "I'll save him if you take me back."
"That's not the deal," Ghost replied, cocking his gun and pressing it against her head.
"You think that scares me? Look at me closely; you killing me now will be my salvation," she said, turning her face so that the gun barrel was right against her forehead. "Go ahead… Shoot. Pull the damn trigger and your friend here will die in no time. Or you save me from here and your friend lives."
"You're stupid if you think we're going to make a deal like that," he replied without taking his eyes off hers.
"In that case," she murmured, sticking her finger into the open wound of the fallen man, hearing him scream in agony and pain. Ghost's eyes fell on her friend; he even tried to hide his concern, but it was obvious. "Get me out of here, and I'll do my job. If not, kill me," she said with more courage and confidence. Again, she witnessed that exchange of glances: Gaz looked at Ghost, who looked at Price, who divided his gaze between the fallen man and the woman. "Tick… Tock…" she joked, moving his finger in the man's wound hole, again causing more screams.
"Save him, and we'll take you home," Price finally replied. She sighed in relief, removing her finger from the wound, and with it, the bullet as well. As soon as she left, she pressed the wound with all her might, trying to stop the bleeding before properly suturing it.
Once the bleeding stopped, the doctor began suturing. It wasn't one of her best, but considering her hands trembled with fear and malnutrition, and there was still a gun to his head, it was an excellent suture.
The man with the mohawk was no longer sweating so profusely; he was still deranged but more conscious, despite the amount of blood he had lost.
Tying the last knot, she retreated to the floor. Her body was too exhausted to stand again, her hands still stained with blood. She looked at Price, who maintained a serious expression, but now with a slight sign of relief in his eyes.
"He will survive," she said, drying her hands on her already soiled clothes. "But he needs proper medical care. This was just the basics."
Price nodded, without saying a word. Ghost, who was still beside her, lowered his weapon, but his gaze remained vigilant. Gaz helped his friend sit up, leaning him against the nearby wall and giving him a sip of water.
"Now it's your turn. Keep your promise," she said, looking directly at Price, who was ultimately the one giving the orders. "Get me out of here."
Price exchanged a quick glance with Ghost and Gaz, as if communicating without words. Finally, he nodded.
"Soap, how are you?" he asked without taking his eyes off her, but the doctor knew who he was talking to.
"Better than ever," Soap, the one with the mohawk, replied.
"Can you walk?" he asked again, without taking his eyes off her, and she did the same. She might be on the verge of death from malnutrition, but she was still stubborn and courageous. She wouldn't lower her head.
"Yes, cap," Soap replied, standing up with Gaz's help.
"And can you?" he asked, now truly speaking to her.
"I don't know." she chose to be honest.
"Ghost, help our new member. Let's get out of here quickly." he said, walking towards the door with his weapon in hand, checking if they were safe to leave.
Ghost helped her to her feet, in the same rough way as before. She tried with all her might to walk, but on her third step she fell to her knees. The man, without saying a word, put his arm around her body, throwing her over his shoulder as if she were a sack of potatoes. She was too weak to argue or demand to be put down; if that was the only way out, so be it."
They exited the shed, and the sunlight hit her face, making her blink rapidly. She hadn't seen the sky in weeks, and the sensation was almost painful. The surrounding scene was desolate. The shed was in an abandoned area, surrounded by debris and signs of recent combat. Bodies were scattered across the ground, some enemy soldiers, others civilians. The medic felt a knot in her stomach, but she didn't have time to process what she saw; soon she heard the sound of breaking glass and her body being placed on the ground.
"Inside," Ghost ordered, gently pushing her into the vehicle.
She got in, feeling the weight of exhaustion taking over her body. The vehicle was cramped, but safe. Price got into the driver's seat, while Ghost stood beside her, still with his weapon drawn, though now pointed downwards. Gaz helped Soap settle into the front seat, while he himself sat beside her.
The engine roared, and they began to move. The medic looked out the window, watching the shed disappear into the distance. She didn't know where they were going, but anywhere was better than that hell. She wanted to cry tears of joy at getting away from that place, but she didn't even have the strength for that.
"Want some?" Gaz asked, handing her the same bottle of water Soap had drunk from in the shed. Her desperate body just shook its head, taking the bottle and putting it to her mouth. Her mind screamed at her not to drink too much; it was the first clean water she'd seen in days, and it wasn't hers, she couldn't just turn it upside down and drink it all. After a small sip, she handed the bottle back.
"Thank you," she said, a small smile spreading across her face.
"You were brave," Soap commented from the front seat. "Few people would have done what you did, especially here."
She didn't answer. Courage? Maybe. Or maybe just desperation. She wasn't sure of anything except the fact that she was alive, and that, for now, that was enough.
The vehicle continued to move along bumpy roads, passing through war-torn landscapes. She closed her eyes, trying to focus on her breathing. She knew the journey wasn't over yet, but for the first time in a long time, she felt a glimmer of hope.
Her eyes only opened when the vehicle stopped, a rescue helicopter in front of her.
She was really going home. She was going back to her family and friends. Her tears were caught in her eyelashes, her body refusing to let them fall.
When Ghost opened the vehicle door and extended his hand to help her out, she hesitated for a moment, looking at that gloved hand, before finally accepting it. Her feet touched the ground, but her legs still trembled, and she almost fell again, but he held her firmly once more.
“Come on,” Price said, his voice still serious, but now with a tone of urgency. “The helicopter won’t wait forever.”
She looked at the helicopter, its blades already slowly spinning, preparing to take off. The idea of getting on that machine, of leaving everything behind, was almost surreal. But she had no choice. It was that or go back to the hell she had escaped.
Gaz and Soap were already on their way to the helicopter, Soap still limping, but managing to move with Gaz’s help. Ghost guided her forward, his step firm and determined. She felt the warm wind from the helicopter blades hitting her face, mixed with the dust raised from the ground. It was a strangely invigorating sensation, as if that wind were blowing away the last vestiges of her captivity.
When they reached the helicopter, Price helped Soap get on first, followed by Gaz. Ghost lifted her unceremoniously, placing her inside the helicopter before climbing in himself. She settled into one of the seats, feeling the cold metal against her skin. The helicopter's interior was cramped, but safe. She glanced out, watching the hangar disappear into the distance as the helicopter began to ascend.
"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice almost lost in the noise of the blades.
"To a safe base," Price replied, sitting down beside her. "There you'll receive the medical care you need. And perhaps we can find out more about you."
She didn't answer. The idea of being interrogated didn't appeal to her, but she knew it was inevitable. After all, who was she to them? A prisoner, a doctor, a survivor. Nothing more.
The helicopter gained altitude, and she looked down, seeing the war-torn landscape stretch below them. It was a brutal reminder of the world they lived in, but also proof that she had survived. She closed her eyes, feeling the weariness take hold of her again. This time, however, there was no fear. Only relief.
When she awoke, she was in a soft bed, covered in clean sheets. Sunlight streamed through a window, illuminating the simple but comfortable room. She looked around, trying to get her bearings. The last thing she remembered was the helicopter, the sound of the blades, the feeling of relief.
The door to the room opened, pulling her from her reverie.
"Oh, you're awake!" a woman dressed in white, a nurse, said with relief in her tone. "How are you feeling?" she asked with a hint of concern. Her throat tried to utter words, but it was too dry. The nurse quickly handed her a glass of water. Despite being connected to an IV and receiving nutrition directly into her stomach, she still felt thirsty.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice still weak. “Where am I?”
“In a secure base. You don’t need to worry,” she said sweetly as she checked her medications and vital signs. “141, the men who saved you, are waiting for you to wake up so they can talk to you. Do you want me to say you’re still sleeping?” She was kind enough to know what she wanted.
She nodded, feeling a knot in her stomach. She knew the interrogation was coming, but now, at least, she was in a safe place. She looked out the window, seeing the blue sky outside. It was a new day, and she was alive. That was what mattered.
“It’s okay, they can come in,” she replied, trying to get more comfortable.
The nurse nodded and helped her to her feet. She was still weak, but she could walk with help. When they left the room, she saw Price, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap waiting for her in the hallway. They looked different now, less threatening, but still vigilant.
"Doctor," Price greeted. "How are you feeling?"
"Still weak. How are you?" she replied, turning her gaze to Soap.
"I'm fine, the doctors said you did a good job," he replied, lifting his shirt so she could see the wound healing well.
"Can you answer a few questions?" Price interrupted their conversation; he was carrying a file, and she could only see the name: Battalion 107.
She took a deep breath, feeling the weight of memories on her shoulders. Her friends, her field family, she only prayed that they had died quickly, that they hadn't suffered like she had.
"Did anyone survive?" she asked, trying to hide the lump in her throat. Price gave her a negative nod, which was enough for her to understand.
"We found out your name," he said, changing the subject. The man walked over to her, handing her the file so she could recognize herself.
"Yn. I am Lieutenant Doctor Yn," she said, looking at her photo, unable to help but notice how different her appearance was. Of course, five months of malnutrition had caused this.
