The Bullet's Mark (Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3 Fanfiction)

Chapter 21

    We held a small ceremony for Roach. 
    It was rainy and dreary and not at all what I'd imagined his vigil to be like. Roach deserved so much more. More he wouldn't have or get to experience. He deserved sunshine and a blue sky. A comfy casket and more support from those who may have known him. He deserved more.
    I watched the little raft of Roach's trinkets float away from us by the river behind our safehouse. My arms were crossed, eyes wet and heart cold. It felt like nothing...the grief for him. I thought it'd be safe to say I'd felt it before, but the truth was Roach's death hurt just a little more than my former squad. Roach and I had been through just a little more, gotten through just a little tougher times. 
    It would be like before...I tried to remind myself. For a while there Roach had fooled all of us into thinking he was dead. This would be no different.
    Quit lying to yourself.
    "I watched that kid grow into the soldier he was." 
    I didn't move my gaze from the distant float as Soap came up next to me under the umbrella of the tree. He watched the remembrance of his comrade, one he'd had for much longer; Soap had froze, soaked, and worked his ass off with Roach. They fought side by side and lived like brothers off the battlefield.
    "He looked up to you." 
    I rolled my eyes, feeling a burn behind them again. "I'm not much to look up to Soap, quit lying."
    "I saw it from the day he realized who you were and how skilled you were. That day in the favela...I watched a childish spark come into his eyes. Up until he left this world he looked up to everything you are Sam." 
    "Well thank you," I managed, wiping at my eyes. 
    We stood in silence for a few moments. 
    "He would still be here if I would've listened to my gut." 
    Soap cast a sideways glance. "Hm?" 
    "I never liked Yuri...not even to begin with. I even mentioned it and it got brushed under the rug like an inconvenience." 
    Soap turned toward me fully, narrowing his blue eyes. "Your gut hasn't always been the best at judgement." 
    Anger flared in my belly like gas to a fire. "What's that supposed to mean?" 
    Soap didn't hold back his pent up rage. "That maybe if your eyes worked with your gut you'd see the obvious. Between your past and Shepherd—"
    "Do not mention any of that!" 
    "If you weren't so dull like your father then maybe none of this would've happened to begin with!" 
    "You're blaming me for Roach's death?" I spat. "That's so fucking dumb!" 
    Soap opened his mouth to continue to get closer to earning a punch in the mouth. 
    "And don't you dare compare me to Shepherd." 
    "Call him what he is Sam: your father." 
    We were practically nose to nose, ignoring the heavy presence of Price and Yuri rushing out to see what was going on. I glared up at Soap, hating his guts and his judgement more than ever. 
    "You try to deny your relation, but it's time to accept it. You're just as much as a piece of—"
    "Finish that sentence and you'll get a fist to your jaw John," I glowered at him, shaking with an uncontrollable anger I hadn't felt in a long time; it felt good, liberating even. 
    Soap huffed as if amused. "A piece of shite!" 
    I lost my cool. I never lost it entirely. I usually made sure to stay keen and collected. Not now. I launched my fist straight into Soap's lower jaw without hesitation. He stumbled backward and I continued forward, shoving him down and to the ground. Once there the Scottish man looked up at me in surprise as he rubbed his sore spot. 
    "Don't you ever disrespect me like that! We all have a history we aren't proud of," I voiced Ghost's very words. "History is called just that for a reason...it belongs in the past!" 
    "Says the one who constantly lives in it." 
    Soap's comment left me in silence. I was trembling in anger, in disbelief. My legs were the only thing thinking rationally as I moved away from the scene. Price hadn't said a word, but pushed close enough to intervene if necessary. 
    I stormed past the older man without speaking a word. Yuri was closer to the back porch, watching everything unfold without showing a single expression on his face. I bet he learned that best from his buddy Makarov. 
    "He's grieving...give him time to cool—"
    I raised my head to glare at him as I passed. "I didn't ask for your opinion, traitor."
    Yuri's head bowed temporarily and he turned to come after me. "I know you may never trust me again—"
    I spun around, feeling his presence too close for comfort, and drew my sidearm to his chest in a fluid motion. Yuri took a moment to realize what was between us, his eyes shifting from my cold hazel ones to the gun and back again. I hadn't skipped a beat to draw and nor would I to fire if Yuri pushed me to. I think he knew it too.
    "You won't trust me again," Yuri continued without a stammer. "I don't expect you to...but Sam even you know creating a two-way war for yourself is stupid." 
    "Just shut up," I growled and dug the barrel deeper into his chest before ripping away. 
    I stormed into the house, slamming the screen behind me. Before I was completely out of earshot Yuri said words that only angered me more. 
    "You may have given up faith in me, but I haven't in you."
    I rushed into the center of the makeshift briefing room, collapsing to my knees in a fit of grumbles. My hands captured my face as I groaned into them, refusing to allow tears to spill anymore. My fingers wiggled up into the messiness of my ponytail and gripped at the roots of the hair there. 
    I had to do something. Soap was right as much I hated to admit it. I was living in the past too much and even I knew better than to do so. To the be the best, to be one step ahead, one couldn't live in the past. Not in this world. 
    ...if you want to know more about Blackjack, come to me...
    I had barely made out Makarov's words a day ago through the chaos. How they stuck with me was beyond what I could process right now. All I knew was that I had to do something about it. 
   I pushed myself up, scrambling over to papers scattered about the table. My eyes sought out the image of a potential lead on Makarov's location: a mansion deep in the mountains of northern Russia. We'd had reasoning to suspect it was one of his hideouts but hadn't had the manpower to split up and investigate. 
    I moved over to the computer, typing in information to gain more intel. It wasn't far from a secluded Russian community...a perfect opportunity to blend in and get to soldiers wandering down from the mansion eager for a break.
    "And what do you think you're doing?" 
    I turned to meet the collected Captain Price. "What I do best...going for the kill." 
    "Not alone—"
    "I want this over with Price," I shook my head and released a low breath. "I have the best shot at this and you know that." 
    He was more than reluctant. "We can't afford to split up." 
    "Think of me as if you met me. I'm a lone wolf. I can handle my own out there." 
    Price kept his eyes narrowed underneath the rounded bill of his hat. "I'll see what I can arrange with Nikolai." 
    I nodded. "I'll gear up immediately. This can't wait." 
    Price stopped me with a clasped hand to my shoulder. "Sam...when you go out there this time you'll really be on your own. We can't risk radios—" 
    "I know," I snapped and looked to where Soap had come to stand at the base of the stairs. "Just get me the info I need." 
    I continued to share a long look with Soap. From the distance between us I couldn't read the emotions whirling in his eyes. I knew he held regret from earlier, but I wasn't going to have it. 
    Don't do this. Was the main message I got from his stance, his long and firm look. 
    I pushed through the house and up the stairs, passing him with another look over my shoulder I knew he could understand. 
    You can't stop me.