Disavowed: A Call of Duty Fanfiction

Chapter 12: Sand in the Hourglass

Knock, knock, knock.

Jessica started, though the sound was soft. She opened the door and Price was standing there, and she ushered him in quickly in case any of Makarov's men were in the hall. "What are you doing inside?" she whispered.

"I was about to ask the same thing," he replied. "Why aren't you with Soap and Yuri up in the church tower?"

She avoided his gaze and walked toward the window behind her. "I had a bad feeling about it, and thought I could provide better support from in here."

He cocked a brow. "How do you have a bad feeling? It's a church."

"Not like I sense demons or something," she drawled. "Like, I feel like something bad is going to happen."

"Like?"

Jessica silently gathered her thoughts and the courage to speak. "... John, if you knew how you were going to die, would you try to change it?"

"What are you getting at?" he asked.

"I have a feeling I'm going to die this morning..."

Confusion and alarm coursed through his heart. "What? Why do you think that?"

She looked back at him, a sheepish expression on her face. "I keep having dreams about it."

"So what? They're just dreams."

"No," she said, voice getting firmer. "You don't understand: I've had dreams about future events before, and they feel different from regular dreams."

He folded his arms. "Yeah? Like what dreams did you have?"

"I had a dream about Zakhaev shooting Gaz in the face before I had met either of them, had another one about Shepherd killing Ghost and Roach." She folded her arms to mirror him. "And I've also had dreams where I'm here and I get shot."

Price scoffed. "Even if you do get shot, what are you worried about? It's not like you won't come back," he said, trying to laugh it off. She didn't respond and his heart beat even faster. "... Right?"

She released a shaky breath. "This is my last life, Price. I didn't want to say anything because I knew you'd worry and send me home."

He was overwhelmed with worry, in fact, but he refused to let her see it. "Even if this is your last life, I don't know what you're worried about. Makarov's not leaving here alive; we have this mission in the bag," he said.

"What if we don't?"

"We do," he growled. "Listen, if you want to help me from inside the hotel, fine. I'll tell Kamarov so he knows. Just keep your head on straight and don't do anything irrational, eh?" He went back to the door and looked out into the hall through the peephole, but noticed she had fallen silent again. "... Jess," he continued softly.

"Don't," she interrupted. "Just go back to the roof; I'll be fine in here."

He turned back to her. "No, Jess, please..."

She snarled to cover up that she was very clearly hurt. "It's fine, I'm just being paranoid."

Price wanted fiercely to walk back over to her and sweep her up in his arms, make her mind stop swirling with anxiety, and stop the tears he could see forming in her eyes. Yet his feet kept him rooted to the floor. "... If anything does go wrong, tell us so we can get to you," he said.

"Don't you think you'll know the same time I do? Makarov is anything but subtle, you know."

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Just..." He groaned, hanging his head. "You know what I mean; I want you to be as safe as you can. Alright?"

She nodded, and he walked out of the room. As soon as he was gone and she was sure he was on the roof, she carefully stepped out into the hall and started for the stairs. Her heart was pounding, seeing all of Makarov's men roving the area, but she quietly slipped out into the parking garage and into the street. The commotion had quieted down, and the streets seemed clear.

Jessica stepped into the sanctuary of the church, the rebels all around her quietly whispering back and forth. She walked past them all to the cross standing at the front, and she knelt down. "... What am I doing?" she whispered. "What if this is a mistake? I'm scared... I'm not ready to die... But I couldn't live with myself if I let someone else die, knowing I could have saved them." She breathed in a deep, shaky breath. "I need strength. I don't know what it's like to really be dead and not come back... I..." Tears choked her and she bowed her head. "I don't want to leave them... There's so much more I wanted to do, so many more words I wanted to say... How awful would it be to tell everyone I loved them before I go?" She looked up at the cross and sighed. As a single tear caressed her cheek, she slid her gear over her head and carefully laid them on the floor. She was shaking.

But it had to be this way.

She looked up the stairs to the tower, hoping that Soap and Yuri would be safe. With a sigh, she closed her eyes, praying one lady silent prayer for them.

It wasn't but minutes later and she was walking back out of the sanctuary and crossed the street. In the garage, she heaved in one more breath, wiped her cheeks to clear away any tears, and went inside.

In the hall, two guards aggressively raised their weapons at her and she scoffed scornfully. "Do you not recognize Makarov's mistress when you see her?" she sneered.

One of the men tapped the other in the chest and gestured for him to lower his rifle. "Apologies, Barinova, we didn't realize you were here."

"I thought my escort informed you?"

"There has been enemy activity, mistress, we've been otherwise occupied; if he tried to contact us, we didn't get it..."

She rolled her eyes. "No matter. Just keep those things lowered around me; I don't want to have to tell him that you almost shot me."

They both flinched. "No, ma'am," they replied quickly. "Just carry on and forget this ever happened, yeah?"

She smiled devilishly. "Splendid. Carry on, gentlemen." They passed her and she dashed up the stairs, heart pounding.