Wait For Me || John "Soap" MacTavish x OC (Call Of Duty)

38. Deepest regret

As the shadows lengthened, a thick, sticky fog had settled over the landing strip. 

It clung stubbornly to the damp tarmac, shimmering dustily in the halogen lights that glinted off the last vestiges of a grey, almost metallic sunset. 

From the long, misted windows, Yael could see it slowly enveloping the faded contours of Nikolai's helicopter, seeping coldly into the gaps, treacherously flooding the dark profile of the distant valleys. 

She hadn't left the armoury with the sergeant; she had watched the massive profile of his shoulders disappear beyond the satin-finished aluminium door, listened to the rhythmic beat of his boots become lost in the echo of the hangar. Waiting. 

For what, she wasn't entirely clear. 

She knew she had made a choice, yet this journey frightened her. Perhaps more than the one she had faced alone just a few days before. 

Instinctively, she clenched the sergeant's dog tags between her fingers and, with an equally dry gesture, tucked them under her light vest. As if to protect them from those prying eyes that had already insinuated themselves into their relationship. 

The doctor reached the runway under a thin, almost imperceptible rain. 

She could barely make out its sharp contours against the leaden sky, and yet she could feel it clearly slipping into the collar of her tactical jacket, a cold trickle stinging her shoulder blades. 

The Task Force was gathered in the pool, cold and dusty, of a single spotlight, right next to Nik's grounded helicopter. 

Price locked his gaze with hers in the damp haze that muffled the atmosphere, stern, almost impenetrable, took a few steps towards her, and Yael couldn't quite grasp his intentions until a second figure lined up with him in the still air. 

Minute, straight, her head covered by a sand-coloured scarf and swallowed by her combat vest, she barely reached the captain's nose. 

She planted herself in front of her with a rebellious and authoritative grace, and only then did Yael realise how beautiful she was. 

"Farah, Lieutenant Yael Williams. Medical officer. Temporarily assigned to the Task Force," Price concluded dryly with a nod of his head, and the woman's large, very dark eyes twinkled at her with a sharp, direct light. 

She uncovered her hair in a swift gesture, revealing a long black braid and a green and white bandana on her forehead. 

"Williams, Farah Karim. Founder and Commander of the ULF. The Urzkistan Liberation Force," the captain continued at the margin of their scrutiny. 

Yael could clearly feel footsteps closing in around them, she almost thought she could distinguish the familiar beat of Johnny's boots, but the air was strangely still. 

She watched the woman in front of her, captivated, and couldn't say whether the welcome she read in her eyes was real or just a reflection of her own. 

"It's a pleasure, Commander Karim," she said neutrally, as the small fingers protected by the brown tactical glove slipped between hers, for once, the same size.

The commander's grip was firm, dry. Her full, olive lips curved slightly upwards, and her gaze pierced deeper into Yael's, almost as if to see through her. 

Farah seemed to weigh her response for a long time, as if searching for a reason to trust her, albeit with an incisive delicacy that Yael doubted she had seen elsewhere. 

"Yael? An unusual choice for an Englishwoman." The commander smiled, the accent heavy on those few words, and the doctor shivered. 

It had been years since she'd heard her name pronounced that way, with the same cadence that had belonged to her mother.