Call of Duty One Shots

How You Meet

Yuri:

     You and Yuri met after the Zakhaev International Airport massacre. You were a nurse. He was among the dead and dying victims. When he was rolled into your ward, you found it strange that compared to most of the other victims, he was still breathing. One morning, almost four days after he'd been submitted, you were caught by surprise when he said something.

     "W... Where am I?" he asked, voice groggy with a lingering tiredness.

     A tad surprised, you jumped. "Oh! You're awake!" you said. "You're in the St. Peter Hospital in Moscow. You were-"

     Yuri looked up at you with hard-set, sad blue eyes. "I know. I was shot. Point blank. In the chest." 

     "... D-da..." you said. "So, um..." You flipped through your charts. "Mr. Yuri?"

     "Just Yuri is fine."

     You nod. "Right. Yuri. What else do you remember about your injury?"

     Yuri stroked the bandages on his chest- his rather muscular chest. "I remember being shot by Vladimir Makarov... D___ him..." His voice had grown to a mutter towards to end, but you had clearly heard the name "Makarov".

     Your eyes widened. "Makarov himself shot you? The world's most wanted terrorist?"

     He nodded. "Da. What does it matter to you?"

     You walked closer to him, your arms slowly falling to your sides in a more casual manner. "It sounds traumatic. I mean, you weren't just shot by anyone, you were shot by the Vladimir Makarov; that's awful."

     Yuri looked down at his heavily tattooed arms and hands. "I suppose it could have been worse; I could have died in the airport." He looked up at you and tried to force a smile. "Then I never would have met you."

     A blush started to form on your cheeks. "Oh, pazhalustah, sir- um, Yuri... The pleasure is all mine." You look out the door. "I... have other patients to look after. It was very nice to see you awake, Yuri."

     "Wait." he said just before you could open the door. You looked back at him. "You never told me your name."

     Slowly a smile formed on your lips. "(Y/N)." you said. "My named is (Y/N)." 

     He smiled. "Well, I hope to see you soon then, (Y/N)."

Soap:

     You had just gotten your 9mm colt 1911 cleaned and put back together. You admired the sleek curved in the barrel, and let your fingers play over the grip. The hammer was back on the gun, and now you were just playing around, aiming it at various targets on the wall. You were a master marksman and you had plenty of bullet-torn paper silhouettes to prove it. First you aimed at the one you'd shot four years ago, then the one you did about a year ago, and then at the one you shot yesterday that was pinned up next to the door-

     A man's face appeared right where you next aimed and, startled, you jumped, pulling the trigger to hear a sharp click as the hammer snapped forward. "Oh!" you said. "Hi! Who are you?"

     The man himself looked surprised at having a gun whipped in front of his face. His hair was short shaved on each side of his head, leaving a stripe of normal-length hair down the center of his head, had a cleanly shaven face, and piercing blue eyes. His muscular chest heaved up and down sharply as he let out a tense sigh. "I'm John MacTavish; I'm here to pick up a P90?" he said.

     A smile opened across your mouth. "Ah! Right, you're the new guy, Soap, right? Gaz talked a ton about you today, I think Captain Price was getting annoyed after a little while." When you looked back at him, his eyes looked dull and irritated. "I... Take it your first meeting with Price and Gaz weren't the best?"