Don't fear the reaper - Captain John Price

LIV

The dark gray clouds were taking over the last bright blue patches of the winter sky. Fluffy dark clouds slowly floated over the base, as if nature itself was keeping an eye on the soldiers on the cold ground. The wind was picking up its pace with each passing hour. Tall trees seemed to reach up for the sky, moving under the power of the strong current. The bright beams of the sun tried to fight the darkness and cover the ground in the light but were eventually taken over the darkness of the gray shadows.

John's fingers were playing their own rhythm on the hardwood surface of the desk. The captain's office was one of the few places that felt like home to Price. A thin layer of dust covered the hardwood covers of the books that took over the shelves behind the man. The wind was knocking on the window, trying to enter the room and include itself in the conversation. Price held Knight's personal file in his hands, even though sleepless nights gave him more information on her and the woman's heart than any piece of paper could ever.

"Are you sure dove?" The wrinkle in between the captain's eyebrows got seemingly deeper, as he looked at a brunette on the other side of his desk. His fingers were carefully flipping through the pages as if John wasn't familiar with every single page of the officer's personal file.

"Yes, John. I'm ready to come back to training physically," Amelia couldn't help but notice the tension written all over the man's face. Weeks passed by after she was released from the Shadow Company's base. The woman's wounds healed, leaving soft scars on her skin as a permanent reminder. However, there was no more pain with the movement of her body or memories of the days in captivity. Knight was ready to be back on the field and wanted more. There was nothing a brunette wanted more than revenge on Makarov.

"Mind if we talk about it after my meeting?" The gaze of the blue eyes fell on the watch on his wrist. Laswell was supposed to enter the base at any moment, and Price was getting ready to hear any intel on Makarov she could possibly get. Part of his mind wanted to keep a woman at another desk somewhere away from the danger on the base, but the other side of John's mind knew that a bird wanting to fly high would never handle the struggles of being caged.

"No worries, captain," A silent sigh escaped out of her lips. Knight never expected the conversation to come up to some kind of conclusion. Even with no clearance from the captain, the officer was planning on spending the afternoon in the training facility away from the gaze of the blue eyes.

The silence traveled from one corner of the room to another, wrapping the two into their arms. The old wooden chair let the tired sound into the air when Amelia was ready to leave the room, just in time when the hard wooden door into Price's office opened in front of her face. Laswell let her inside after one loud knock echoed in the silence of the room. Her blonde hair stayed in the perfect bun, as the years were written over the woman's face in the drawing just like over the painting wrinkles of experience in CIA.

"Kate Laswell," It didn't take a long time for Kate to recognize a woman in front of herself one of the faces that looked back at her from the personal files of the people who made up the team of Task Force 141. Her hand raised up in the air, as the look of the blue eyes of a woman seemed to be softer than usual.

"Pleasure finally meeting you in person. Officer Knight," Amelia shook Laswell's hand, letting the hint of a smile appear on the edges of her lips. A brunette didn't want to steal even more time from the two, rushing to exclude herself from the conversation and out of the room, as her brown eyes found the gaze of the deep blues on the other side of the office. "We can talk later, Price."

"I'll see you later at the meeting as well," Laswell's footsteps echoed in the room as the door silently closed behind the officer leaving the two in Price's office. The folder with endless pieces of information was sitting in Kate's hands, but a woman wasn't rushing to share the information she held in her own hands.

"No, you won't, Kate," The click of the lighter echoed in the room as the flame met with the cigar in the rough hands of the captain. White thick smoke reached up the ceiling as if trying to escape the tension rising up in the room, as the cigar found its place in the warmth of John's lips.

"She is on my list for the mission, John," A white paper with last names and rankings sat in front of the captain. Kate expected a long conversation to unfold and let herself get comfortable in one of the wooden chairs.

"But not on mine," His jaw clenched. For the first time in a while, a cigar in Price's hands wasn't giving him the well-known feeling of relaxation. With each puff of tobacco, his irritantion was only growing but not even a single muscle on the man's face would tell about it.

"We need all hands on deck with Makarov, and you know it quite well Price," Laswell opened a bottle of water, watching as the refreshing liquid filled up the glass. It felt as if finally they were one step ahead of Makarov. The team was ready on paper, and the intel gathered through the different sources was confirmed. They were almost ready. After all, they could at least hope that the three times make a charm.

"My team is formed, Laswell," The stone-cold expression froze on the captain's face. The smoldering light of the cigar met with the cold ashtray when the man had enough of it. His focus shifted from the cigar to Kate, as he finally got fully engaged in the conversation.

"Let me remind you, John, we are one man down," Kate looked at the wall in front of her face. Her thoughts took a woman back to the night when she finished the report on the last mission involving Makarov. Years of work in the CIA made the woman cold, ready to go through almost anything to achieve the goal of her mission. Yet there was a stinging wave of pain that went through Laswell's mind when she typed 'K.I.A' next to Soap's name.

"I remember it fucking clearly, Kate," The tall body of the captain left his desk chair. Steps of the man's heavy boots echoed in the room, as the blue eyes got out of the room into the wildlife outside of the window for a split moment.

"This is my list of the teams for the mission. Correct yours if needed," Laswell looked at John for a moment, taking one sip of water after another as if the woman was feeling like the thirstiest person on the earth.

John took a few deep breaths before coming back to the conversation with the woman and back to his desk. Days away from the base gave him a moment of relaxation, but the enemies were breathing into the man's back even during the darkest hours of the night. Thoughts about Makarov were keeping Price awake at night, as the captain was plotting his own ways of getting revenge for himself, the people of his country, ULF, and Soap.

"We have the intel on Makarov's next target," Kate looked into Price's eyes as if she was trying to get every single bit of his attention to her, knowing well that he was listening to every single word of hers more carefully than to any other meetings.

"Where?" The hands of the man found each other in a lock over the hard surface of his desk. John's eyes watched Laswell, as she reached for the map well-known to him with every cell of his skin and each thought of his mind city. Central parts were marked in red, of course, just like always Makarov was aiming for the bloodiest attack possible. Nothing could be better than the center of a busy city for a war criminal to play his wicked games.

"London," Kate placed the map along with the report on the intel on the desk in front of Price and gave him the time to analyze the priceless information that was in his hands.

John's eyes walked over the streets he had known for years, noting to himself the number of victims the attack could possibly bring if no one stopped Makarov. His blue eyes darkened in anger, as Price siently looked up at Laswell. Despite the silence surrounding them in a room, both of them knew that there was no time for arguments while Makarov was walking freely on the streets of England's capital, plotting his next immoral plan.