COD Oneshots

Picture Frame (John)

John Price sat at his desk, the hum of the office around him almost drowning out his thoughts. His eyes drifted to the empty picture frame that had once held a photograph of him and his ex-wife on their wedding day. The frame now felt like a cruel reminder of what was lost, but surprisingly, the sting of it all didn't cut as deeply as he had expected.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd taken a good look at that photo, anyway. Between his weeks spent on missions and the emotional distance he had placed between himself and his wife, he had almost become a stranger in his own home. When he found out she had fallen for their neighbor, it felt like the last piece of a puzzle falling into place. He was surprised she had stayed with him for so long, given how often he was away and how little attention he had paid her when he was home. In a way, he couldn't blame her.

The laughter and camaraderie of his team provided a brief escape from his reality, but it was Y/N who began to see through the facade. She had been with the team for a few months, a quick learner who didn't shy away from the roughness of their world. Unlike the others, Y/N was perceptive, and she could sense the weight of something unspoken hanging over John.

One day, as she dropped off mission reports in his office, she noticed the empty frame sitting on his desk. It drew her gaze and made her heart race; something about it felt so wrong. Hesitating, she considered asking him about it, but a voice in her head reminded her that they weren't exactly close. Maybe it was none of her business.

Yet, the question nagged at her, refusing to fade away like the fading light of the afternoon sun streaming through the office window. A few days later, curiosity and concern got the better of her.

"John?" she ventured, stepping into his office unannounced. He looked up, a faint hint of surprise crossing his rugged features.

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something?" She shifted nervously from one foot to the other. "I noticed your picture frame is empty. I mean, is everything okay?"

For a moment, a flicker of something passed across John's face—an emotion too complex to articulate in words. He had been trying to sound casual about it, to dismiss the thought and carry on like it was no big deal. But here was Y/N, looking at him with concern etched into her features.

"Yeah, it's... it's fine," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Just got divorced."

Y/N's eyes widened, surprise mixing with sympathy. "I'm sorry to hear that. I didn't realize..."

"Most don't," he admitted with a wry smile. "You know how it is. We're always gone on missions, and when we're home, it's like I'm still not really there." He gestured toward the empty frame. "It's funny, actually. I found out she was seeing our neighbor. Can't say I was shocked, though. We drifted apart long before that."

"Divorce can be tough," she said softly, her heart aching for him. "I can't imagine what that feels like."

"It's not as bad as I thought it would be," he said, leaning back in his chair. "I mean, I'm not going to pretend it doesn't hurt. But there's a weird relief in letting go, you know? Like I'm finally free to focus on my work and my team."

She nodded, her gaze shifting back to the frame. "What are you going to do with it?"

"I haven't really thought about it," he replied, the words coming out with a strange mixture of bitterness and acceptance. "It might just stay empty for a while."

Y/N hesitated, then took a step closer. "You know, if you ever want to talk or need someone to listen, I'm here."

John looked at her, surprised by the offer. It was simple, yet it felt like a lifeline. "Thanks, Y/N. I appreciate it. It's not easy for me to talk about this stuff."