keep me breathing - john price x oc

17. contaminated

You had no idea at all how much time you had left to secure the warheads. Somewhere out there, there were weapons deadly enough to wipe out a city - maybe more. A shudder traced a path down your spine thinking about it, an echo of what you'd seen before. The reports and images you'd seen showing exactly what Makarov was capable of.

But dwelling on it wouldn't help. Not now. The lack of knowledge had everyone on edge, especially John. He wouldn't show it, but you knew. The way his jaw would clench, his eyes would stare without blinking. He always carried the weight of the world, and now, it included the fate of countless lives and the need for revenge.

The plan for Graves to oversee the warheads' transport was off the table, shot to hell back in that warehouse. The weapons hadn't been there – just another dead end, a way to occupy them while Makarov moved his pieces across the board. It was supposed to happen at 1900 – that deadline etched in your mind like a ticking clock. But who knew if that was still the plan?

What if it was already too late?

John was standing in the corner of the briefing room, in deep in conversation with Ghost. Their voices, usually a low murmur, were sharp, laced with frustration, their postures reflecting a disagreement. Maybe they were battling the same worries and questions you were.

"Are you okay to leave now?" Kate's voice startled you, pulling you back to the moment. She stood beside you, concern etched into her features. Her gaze lingered on your face, searching for any lingering effects of the drugs Reynolds' men had used.

"Yeah. I'm not feeling any worse," you said, forcing a smile. "So the effect should have worn off."

"Good." Laswell nodded, but before she could reply, John turned away from Ghost, striding towards you.

"John, we can't afford to waste time," Kate urged. "Every second -"

He cut her off, eyes locking with yours, a silent question passing between you. It wasn't Laswell he needed reassurance from; it was you.

You met his gaze, offering a nod. "I'm good to go," you said, and for a fleeting moment, the world narrowed, just the two of you against the world. The weight of it receding because it was shared between the two of you, no longer a burden to be carried alone. He squeezed your shoulder, a silent acknowledgement, gratitude, before his features hardened back into that familiar mask of command. But something was different about it. You couldn't tell exactly what it was.

Everyone gathered swiftly, their movements sharp and disciplined.

"Okay. Listen up," John said, his voice now loud with authority. "This is it. The lion's den. We have no room for errors here, nobody of you will get into any danger, am I making myself clear?"

The collective nod that rippled through the team was a silent vow – a promise of loyalty. Sharing the same determination to bring the enemy down.

"Alex, Farah," Price continued, "You're on exfil. Secure the perimeter. Make sure we have a way out, especially for Soap. Laswell will coordinate with you."

They both acknowledged his order with a sharp nod.

"Alejandro," Price's gaze shifted to Vargas. "You told me you know this place. You'll lead the team searching for those warheads. Take Graves and Gaz."

Alejandro nodded, accepting the responsibility.

"Ghost, you take overwatch with some of the Vaqueros."

Ghost didn't move, his eyes were locked with Prices for a moment, their own way of communicating their mutual respect.

Price then finally turned to you, eyes locking with yours once again. And then he said it.