Hotel Six: A Call of Duty Fanfiction

Chapter 2: The Hat

When she arrived home, Jessica pulled the mail from her postbox. As she flipped through the various coupons and junk mail, she was surprised to see a Marines-issued envelope with her name on it. She brought it inside and cautiously slit the top open with a letter opener, sliding the letter into her hand.

She swallowed a hard lump in her throat when she read it:

Jessica,

The United States Marine Corp is sorry to inform you of the passing of Sergeant Samuel Griggs. He served his country with nobility and courage, fighting to the very end. We understand you served together with him, and would like to take the time to invite you to his memorial on November 20, 2011. We understand if you are unable to attend, and if you cannot, we hope that you're remembering our fallen comrade, wherever you are.

Signed,

She couldn't make out the signature through a screen of tears masking her vision. "Huh... I never knew his name was Samuel," she mused quietly as she folded up the letter and laid it on the kitchen counter. The weakness from the funeral finally caught up with her and she slumped onto a barstool, covering her face with her hands.

A knock on the door disrupted her before a tear could roll down her cheek and she sat up with an irked groan. It was Price, who looked apologetic as she stepped out onto the porch. "Yes, sir?"

"I'm sorry to come back and bother you," he said. "But I forgot to inform you that Gaz made me his executor, and you were mentioned in his will."

Jessica tilted her head. "He did? Why? For what?"

Price handed her a neatly folded off-white paper. She carefully unfolded it and rolled her gaze over each word.

"Last Will and Testament of Kyle Garrick."

There were several names on the list, as well as possessions. Most everything went to his family aside from a few weapons that went to teammates. She drew near to the end and had not found herself anywhere. Then, her eyes cast over the last lines on the page.

"I devise, bequeath, and give my 12-Gauge Steven's 320 shotgun to my friend, Sergeant John MacTavish.

"I devise, bequeath, and give my M-9 to my friend, Jessica Repp; I also give her my hat, as promised in Azerbaijan."

"You just wanted me to cry, didn't you, Gaz..?"

Jessica swallowed the lump in her throat, folding the paper again. "His hat?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Inside joke, I'm assuming?"

Jessica let out a pained laugh. "Yeah. I told Gaz after I got shot in Azerbaijan that if he went down in battle, I was taking his hat... I didn't think he'd take it seriously."

Price looked away from her, clearing his throat uneasily. "The hat and gun are in his safe in the armory, if you'd like to go gather them."

At the armory, Price stopped outside the door. "I'll be waiting out here; I know these things can be emotional."

Jessica scoffed. "What, you don't wanna watch me cry at a hat?" she teased. He waved her off and she strolled inside, waving to a sergeant seated at the front desk inside.

She eventually got into the safe, finding that most everything had been cleared out; Soap hadn't yet claimed the shotgun. Jessica saw the hat and pulled it out, slowly drawing her fingers over the material, which had faded from time in the beating sun. She turned it over to see it had been thoroughly cleaned and she brought it up to her face.

Ah. It was faint, but they hadn't quite washed out his familiar scent, woody and slightly sweet. Her heart ached, wishing she could bury her face in that smell like when she used to hug him.

Her eyes settled on a small box on a shelf at the top of the safe- the M-9. Jess opened it and looked at the perfectly cleaned weapon. He had just sent it in for modifications before the last mission, and it looked magnificent; she took it out of the box to get a better look. She took in every detail, and pulled back the slide to look inside the empty barrel, releasing it with a satisfying snap.

Strange. The slide had no wear or tear; in fact, it looked brand new. "Curious..." Turning it on its side, she saw that the inscription had been changed. The serial number had been moved with something else inscribed in its place.

Price unfolded his arms when she walked out. "Got everything?"

Her eyes were vacant and she didn't look at him. "Yeah..."

His brows pinched together sympathetically. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Jessica shook her head, trying to force a smile. "I'm fine. Just a lot of memories in that safe." His hand came across her chest before she could step forward and her smile turned rigid, her eyes hollow as she looked back at him.

He knew she was lying, but somehow he couldn't find the words to tell her. "If you're sure..." She nodded and they walked back to the car. Though she didn't notice it, his eyes scarcely left her face, eager in case she changed her mind and decided to say something; she didn't, and by the time they got to the car, she was still quiet.

Halfway home, though, he could take the silence no more. "You're sure everything is alright?"

She sighed and looked at the hat, her finger tracing over the embroidery on the patches. "I'm alright, Price; I'm just a little rattled from the funeral this morning."

"Sounds like bullshit to me."

"I'm fine."

"Isn't that she-speak for 'everything's not fine,'?"

Jess rolled her head back and looked at the ceiling. "Even if I wasn't fine, I don't think I'd talk about it with you anyway."

"Why not?"

His question caught her off guard. "Why not..?" Her eyes flickered back and forth as she mulled it over. "I suppose I just... don't want to talk about it with anyone..."

Price parked the car in the driveway and leaned back in his seat with a sigh. "Well, if you change your mind, don't hesitate. I'm just next door."

Truth be told, she had never thought of Price as being the gentle sort, and talking to him had sounded like a death sentence. Now his offer was almost tantalizing, if only it wasn't still so painful to speak about. Jessica furrowed her brow and nodded. "I appreciate it, sir. If things change, I'll take you up on that."

That night, Jessica paced around her bedroom slowly. She had an anxious knot in her stomach, but no amount of walking was about to tame it. When she stopped pacing, it felt worse, and she once again returned to her rhythmic striding in circles.

Finally, she laid down on her bed, and her focus was trained back on the pistol, laying on her night table now. Her eyes passed over the inscription again.

"We saved the world,"

"Will you marry me?"