Call of Duty One Shots

How You Met part 2

Oh my goodness! Someone actually voted on this! :D So, there is a continuation. AND I have more time to add to it this time. Lol. Enjoy!

Vladimir Makarov:

Price and Soap had both told you to leave Makarov alone. You, of course, were not convinced that you couldn't somehow sway him to join the team and shut down the Ultranationalist party. So, on your week-long holiday, you ran off to Russia to look for him... Without the knowledge of your captains.

After running around Moscow for twelve hours, you decided that you needed to get something to drink at the bar. The moment you sat down at the counter, you realized there was a pair of eyes trained on you. Briefly you looked back to see the very person you were looking for sitting in a booth in the back: Makarov. You fought to calm yourself down, knowing that any sudden movements could alert him that you recognized him. You looked back at the bar tender and leaned on one elbow. "Dear, oh dear..." you muttered. "I can't decide what I want..." you said, trying to keep your mind off the target. Playing this cool would give you a better chance at getting close to him.

"Perhaps I could help with that?" asked a voice, medium depth with a gravelly sound. Makarov was standing behind you, looking down your neck. 

You blinked, looking back at him. "Oh! Um, I guess? I don't really know what to pick." you said, using your best Russian.

He scoffed and sat beside you. "Well, I'd suggest a fruit cocktail; it's sweet, and just a little tangy..."

"Niet, niet, niet, niet." you said. "I want something more potent than that. Like... Not some girly little drink, but not quite moonshine..."

A crooked smile twisted on Makarov's lips. "... I see. Alright. How about two shots of hard whiskey... What flavor?"

You thought a moment. "Apple, pazhalusta."

"Apple it is." He looked at you as the bartender walked away. "So, what brings an American like you to Russia?" he asked, shifting to English.

The hair on the back of your neck stood. "H-how did you-?"

"We don't call it 'moonshine' here in Russia; that's a deep south thing."

"... I'm impressed you know that." you said.

He nodded. "Yes... I'm Vladimir, by the way." he said.

You smiled. "Well, it's a pleasure, Vladimir. I'm (y/n)."

Before either of you could speak again, the bartender set your drinks down on the counter. Vladimir picked up his shot glass and, with a swift motion, gulped the whole thing down. When he noticed a slightly surprised look on your face, he chuckled. "That's how you take a shot. Ever done it before?"

Soon, both of you were laughing drunkenly. Two of his escorts came over to help him to his car when he stopped them. "Wait. I want (y/n) to come with. She's very interesting; and, ah, I dunno, maybe she could add a little fun to our lives!" he slurred.

Without a fight, you shrugged and followed them out.

Ghost

You were having a HORRIBLE day. Your gun jammed during target training, Price had swiped you off your feet multiple times during the hand-to-hand combat training, you missed your opportunity to eat lunch; now you were just hoping you could practice the rappelling exercise without messing up.

Just as you were nearly at the top, your hand slipped, loosing the rope just enough to send you plummeting the twenty five feet to the floor. You grasped desperately at the rope to stop yourself, but you weren't slowing down enough. The floor was growing closer, and you could already feel your bones breaking with the impact: in your legs, your hips, and your ribs.