If it takes all night, or a hundred years | COD Alex/Farah

Prologue

It wasn't supposed to be a death sentence. Sending the four men in to check out the bunker was dangerous, they knew, but it was routine.

Farah had finally felt like the discovery might give them an upper hand. Like they might get in front of the plan for once, find a way to stop the Russians before they killed and destroyed again. The mountains were a good hiding place, they'd begun to feel like home to her, and she was glad for the people she had on her side.

But Watcher lost contact with the men, an American, Alex Keller, and three of Farah's ULF fighters, late that morning. They were underground, it wasn't so alarming. That's what she told herself. But they waited, and contact was never reestablished. And the men never exited.

Fear wasn't a part of Farah's vocabulary. She found it rarely gripped the men she stood across from either, although the concern she could feel through their urgency weighed heavy on her. They were going to go in themselves. Find....whatever there was to find. She knew it was unlikely they would find four live men. She hoped they would find nothing, be given a chance to find them alive elsewhere, but her tired heart felt that was also unlikely. She'd lost too many. Even though sticking with the small group of special forces, people she trusted, had helped, had gotten them further, she couldn't help but feel they were losing. Her fighters were strong and motivated, but every time she lost one, she ate the guilt in spite of the fact that it furthered the cause. In spite of knowing it's what they signed up for.

That included Alex. He'd given up his status, his identity, to follow her. She had been surprised, she had been grateful, and then she'd sent him to his death.

He'd stood in front of her with big, wild blue eyes and asked to be commanded. Asked for her direction. And she'd given it. And those blue eyes had haunted her every night after, even when she knew he was pulled alive from the rubble and sent into hiding to recover. Even after seeing him again, finally, working alongside him again, she still dreamt of those eyes, believing she had finally sacrificed something she wasn't sure she could live without. Somehow knowing he lived made the guilt worse, because she didn't deserve it. She deserved the mark on her conscience.

She was sworn to this life. Married to the violence of it, bedded each night by its loss and terror. But she wasn't heartless, she had never been able to find it within herself to shut it off. She knew it made her vulnerable, and it had left her broken, it had allowed her some weakness. Well, she felt it was weakness in herself even though she often witnessed the same softness in others and counted it a strength. Alex had that softness, that's why he had given up his American duty to follow her. Because he cared. And now she stood at the entrance of an underground bunker with another that gave a lot of fucks about whether he lived or died and prepared to go in after his body.

"Stay close." Price told her, and she nodded.

There was no rank there, amongst the five of them. They were all leaders, and all fighters. But often, in moments like this, she was glad to let him guide her.

They entered the bunker, it was unguarded except for the bodies outside that it seemed Alex and his men had left behind that morning. Laswell, Watcher, was in their ears, guiding them and taking in the information Price fed her. Farah stayed close to him as he'd directed, her gun firmly in her hands, ears alert. They saw no one. No movement.

They opened doors to empty rooms and followed the halls deeper and deeper until dread dug a pit in Farah's gut. It was too quiet. She'd lost herself in thought again when Price reached out to push her behind him. Not out of danger, there was no danger, but so he could see the carnage before she did. She would still see it, but the higher ranking officer in him wanted to prepare himself for her reaction and balance his own.

It was nothing they hadn't seen before. Slain ULF soldiers, loss of freedom fighter life. But it was ugly, anyway, and painful. As with all Farah's forces, the men were young. Well trained, but with years and years of life ahead of them. And Farah, despite all her battlefields and all of her unceremonious burials, felt her heart sink when she saw them.

One of them had his throat slit, she guessed he was the first to walk into the ambush. His dark eyes were still wide in surprise. The other two had taken bullets at close range. Multiple. Enough to splatter blood on the concrete walls so it ran and pooled on the floor.

Two Russian soldiers lay dead as well. They'd fought, then.

There was some comfort in knowing it would have been quick. She knelt next to her men and closed their eyes out of respect while Price moved around the room, looking. Four had gone in, as far as they knew. One was missing. He radioed Gaz, their transportation out, and told him the bodies would need to be removed. They couldn't be sure no one was watching them, but they wouldn't leave the men.

Farah stood. Her voice was quiet, flat and emotionless. "Where's Alex?"

Price didn't turn. He stood looking at the large double doors at the opposite end of the room. "His gun is here."

She looked down, near Price's feet. A rifle lay there. It was bloodied, but the rest of him was not in the room. She was numb now, she supposed, to things like this. To sending people off to better places far, far too soon. But she had things she needed to say to Alex Keller and it was only her fault that she had waited too long. She went to stand near the Captain.

He glanced down at her. She was young. He'd experienced a lot by the time he was her age, but it didn't hold a candle to her suffering. Sometimes, when she had to bury the soldiers he knew she loved, he wished she would express some emotion. Not because it was necessary but because he knew unshed tears weighed her down. Wore her out. He turned back to the doors. His did too, if he was honest.

The missing man was more than a fellow soldier. He was a friend, an ally. He was a great asset. He was a great man. When Price thought they'd lost him before, it angered him, it wasn't fair. But he'd come back then. He had a distinct sinking feeling that they weren't going to get so lucky this time. He reached for the handle of the door. He could only hope it wasn't for nothing.

--

Faced with the knowledge that he was either going to die or be kept alive for some darker, more sinister purpose, Alex Keller tried really hard to die. And failed.

He'd been the first through the door to the holding cell before the missile room, and they'd been waiting on him. He took the butt of a rifle to the side of his head, not enough to knock him out, just enough to knock him out of the way as they slit the throat of the man behind him. He had righted himself fast enough to get a few shots off, to take down a couple of them, but there were too many. They'd walked into a really well laid trap.

They'd taken him down and strapped his hands and legs and carried him out like an animal, still fighting. It was a long, dark ride to wherever they were planning to hold him. Nearly two hours, from what he could tell, and over rough terrain.

He didn't care what happened to him. He cared that they hadn't succeeded. He cared that the people he'd left behind might walk into the same trap he had. He cared that he'd left things unspoken. With all of them. He didn't expect they'd find him alive. He was sure his captors would torture him for information, which he wouldn't give up, and let him die when they were through bothering with trying.

He hoped the others left it alone. Focused on the task at hand. He'd seen what was behind those doors, and it was bigger than any of them.

If anyone could stop the disaster it was Price and his people, and the caramel eyed woman he'd followed there. If it was in their hands, then he could rest in peace.