"Vorkuta Skies"
Chapter 3
WARNING: THIS COULD CONTAIN SPOILERS IF YOU HAVE NOT FINISHED/PLAYED THE GAME. CONTAINS YAOI, SLASH, MALE x MALE, (etc.). IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH IT, DO NOT READ IT. Thank you.
Rated for possible future chapters, contents, and of course, language.
Pairing(s): Alex Mason/Franks Woods, possible Viktor Reznov/Alex Mason.
Summary: Woods miraculously survives the explosion after crashing through the window. He is captured and held captive at Vorkuta, Russia. When Mason receives an anonymous message about Woods's location, he's determined to save Woods with or without help. But with his brain washing not fully broken, just what will being back in Vorkuta do to Mason?
Disclaimer: Call of Duty Black Ops rightfully belong to Activision and Treyarch.
AN: More crazy Mason, yay. xD Thanks for the reviews! Hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy typing it. c:
Switch POV: Alex Mason.
I felt something hard coming into contact with my side. It hurt like a bitch. My eyes flew open as I hunched over in pain, confused. I barely had time to look up because next thing I knew, my attacker had thrown me onto the concrete floor. I fell hard and landed on my ass. Shit, it hurt.
"What.. the fuck.." I was seriously confused.
I looked up to face my the man who basically threw me to the floor. I didn't expect it to be Woods, my friend. But I wasn't completely shocked by it either. Just confused. Why did he suddenly just knee me and then toss to the ground? My brows came together as he stared back at me. He seemed just as confused as I was? I really didn't understand.
"What the fuck's wrong with you?" I hear him growl. He obviously wasn't happy.
I looked at him speechlessly. First you knee someone in the side, throw him to the ground, and then ask him what the fuck was wrong with him? What was wrong with you, Woods?
"What?" Was all I could say because really, I was confused.
Woods stared at me. I could see frustration in his expression, and then it quickly turned into anger. I could always tell when Frank Woods was frustrated or angry. For him, those two were completely different things, but that difference only rested between a fine, thin line. When Woods was frustrated, he always spoke quickly and gruffly, then it often lead him into being angry. Now- when he was angry, it was shoot first, ask questions later. I was just thankful my friend didn't have a gun with him.
He was quiet, but I can hear him inaudibly mumble curses. I didn't understand his sudden anger. I hadn't done anything- well maybe yell at him just before blacking out. But Woods wasn't the kind of man to let words get the better of him, depending on the person that is. I also knew Frank didn't get pissed without a reason. Something was seriously eating at his ass, and I just knew it had something to do with me.
But what?
4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42.
Fuck, not the numbers again. Why- why? Those same fucking numbers. I gripped the sides of my head and squeezed my eyes shut. I can hear Woods's voice faintly, but those numbers were drowning him out.
4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42.
Rusalka. No, it was destroyed. It's gone damn it! Get out of my head! I couldn't take it, I screamed for them to go away, but they only got louder and pain shot through every inch of my skull. It was splitting my head in two. 4. 8. FUCK- get out! 15. 16. GET OUT! 23. 42.
"Mason!" I hear Frank's voice echo along with the numbers.
I opened my eyes to see the figure gripping at my arms, trying to pry them away from my head. But what I saw, it wasn't Woods. It was Reznov. Reznov. I need Reznov.
"NO MASON!" The Russian voice rung in my ears and I recoiled at the pain that shot through my head.
"GOD.. DAMN IT!" This pain was so much worse then before.
"Mason!" Was that Reznov or Woods? I couldn't tell who was yelling my name. Those fucking numbers! They were so loud.
Shut up! Shut up! SHUT THE FUCK UP!
The voice halted. They were gone.
But Reznov was there. I didn't see him as I laid there panting frantically. But I could sense his presence. Because it was my mind that created him, I always knew when he was around. Always.
"Mason..." Woods's voice. He was hunched over me, like a child who needed to be comforted after experiencing his first bike accident.
I hated that feeling.
Silence.
I let my breathing calm down. For a moment, I just wanted to enjoy the silence. Reznov never left. He stood there in the corner, watching me. Why wasn't he over here? I needed him.. I need...
"Let go Mason." Viktor simply said.
Why? Why? Didn't he understand? I could never let go. Never. Why did I need to?
"Why?" I asked him out loud.
I knew Frank could neither see or hear Reznov- because he was in my head. That's the only place he'll ever be.
Switch POV: Frank Woods.
I didn't know what to make of Mason's... episode. Just minutes before, he was about ready to rape me. Then he started going insane. Or berserk. Whichever was more intense. Any doubt I had of Alex's sanity was gone. I tried calming him down, but his flailing arms threatened to punch me. All I could do was fucking watch. I watched him scream, yell, beg. He wanted something to stop. I cringed at the sight. I looked away for only moments. I felt guilt. I couldn't help him deal with... this.
I heard him go silent. If it weren't for his heavy breaths, I would have been afraid he had just dropped dead.
"Mason..." I breathed out. I wasn't exactly sure what to say. I wanted to ask him those questions.
I wanted answers.
"Why?" I heard him say. I looked down at him instantly. Did he hear my thoughts? I would have been creeped out if it wasn't thanks to my years of service. I've seen too much shit on the battlefield.
I opened my mouth to say something, my voice didn't come out. I tried helping my friend up, but he only refused me. He had gotten up by himself.
"I'm fine."
I stare at him in disbelief. Fine, he says. Fucking fine? My bullshit meter was seriously flying off the charts. A Viet Cong almost stabbing you? Yeah, that was fine. Running through a god forsaken jungle for your life? Fine. BUT, fucking screaming your head off like maniac, hunched on the floor was no where considered fine to me.
"Really?" I glare at him, "Mason. You're not fine."
He looks over to me with a troubled expression, and then returns my glare.
"Wh-"
"It's none of your fuckin' business Woods!" He yells instantly.
None of my business? After we've been friends for years, he tells me this wasn't any of my business. I told that son of a bitch almost everything. Well- I didn't need to. He was there for most of it. After having a mental breakdown, he's going to tell me this was none of my fucking business? To hell with that. It angers again, and just when I thought I had pushed that incident from earlier out of my mind, it came back to haunt me. This was definitely my fucking business.
I grabbed him by the shirt.
"Mason. Don't you tell me what is my business and what isn't. After experiencing that, I think this is my fuckin' business."
He tears away from my grip, "Fuck off Woods."
God damn it! I always remembered Mason to be stubborn and I always hated that about him. It was one of the things about him that pissed me off. I was so close to giving him a bloody nose to match that bloody lip, which he now took a notice of. He ran his tongue over the cut and I could tell from his expression that he was wondering how he got it. I only hoped he wouldn't remember.
Silence.
He seriously wasn't going to tell me anything. Stubborn bastard. Defeated, I sat down on the small bed angrily with arms folded over my exposed chest. I see him look over to me and then towards the corner of the cell. He copies my actions and takes a seat on the other bed as well.
That fucking silence, I could cut it with a knife.
"How long have you been in here, Woods?" He finally speaks. Oh sure, he can ask me questions, but anything involving him was none of my fucking business.
I was obviously still sour about Mason, but reluctantly answered, "Six months."
I saw him look to the ground, his eyebrows narrowing. I saw memories flash through his eyes, obviously about this place. I sighed deeply.
"Mason. You were here before, and I just want to know," I paused, looking at him but he didn't move. "I just need answers. What did they do to you while you were here?"
Alex didn't answer me, and for a awhile, he just sat there staring at the floor. His eyes didn't blink. I would have thought he wasn't going to answer, but I continued looking at him. The cell was quiet again, and then he shifted.
"About a year, a whole god damned year.." He starts.
Over the past few days, Mason told me everything.
His brain washing. Viktor Reznov. The numbers. The interrogation. Everything.
I learned the whole time during our missions, Viktor Reznov was with us, in Mason's mind. That explained a lot. I could just remember Bowman asking Alex about something he muttered.
"Come again?"
Mason told me about his time in Vorkuta, and how he escaped from it. When we were put to work, I could tell the Soviets remembered Mason very well. I suggested we do the same as Reznov did in order to escape. But the security in Vorkuta was different now, Alex wouldn't give it a seconds thought. I learned that Reznov was still with Mason, even though he had been gone after Dragovich's death. He hadn't made an appearance until Mason was back here.
I felt guilt because Mason was here because of me. When he found out I was alive, he went here to rescue me. Alone it seemed. I almost punched him when he said he went alone- wait, I did. Why didn't Hudson or Weaver, or anybody come with him?
And during the time, I couldn't help but to wonder. What was Viktor Reznov to Alex?
I knew my friend respected the man more then just a friend, a soldier, and a mentor. What was he to Mason?
I never once spoke of what happened the first day I was transferred in with Mason. What he almost tried to do. I figured it was his insanity. And speaking of which- that "episode"- as I would call them, would happen every now and then. Those numbers would come back, and the he was screaming like a fucking maniac. I still don't know what to do about it- only blame Dragovich. When I reach hell, there was no telling what I would do to the bastard.
If hell even existed.
Mason would never go back to old Mason. I knew as much. I could never have that friend back ever again. But when you were stuck in a cell from working your ass off all day, you tend to get bored or tired. There were times where I caught glimpse of old Mason. That fucking obnoxious, walrus laugh never changed. Neither did his sarcastic remarks and counters to my sarcastic remarks and comments. I guess I could say I haven't changed much either. When Alex wasn't having one of his "episodes" or hallucinating about Reznov, he was as close as old Mason could get.
I also noticed he doesn't eat as much now. It kind of bothers me. It was eat or starve. Alex should have known as much.
So when the door opened to our cell with a tray of bread loaves and water, I basically threw the loaf at him. It was sour dough bread, that's all they ever fed us. It tasted like shit, but like I said, it was eat or starve. To hell if I let me or Mason starve to death in here.
But he had to be stubborn.. Fucking Mason.
"I'm not hungry." He muttered offering me the loaf. I had already downed half of mine.
"Eat, damn it, Mason." I glare at him as I wiped crumbs from my unshaven chin.
"I said I'm not hungry." He snapped back, his voice more stern this time.
Oh my god, he was seriously going to be fucking stubborn about this. Normally, I would have let this go. But for the last few days, Alex has barely eaten anything except for the water. I don't even know what he shits out in that stomach of his. I stood, hovering over him.
"Mason, you barely ate anything for the past few days. You're going fuckin' die."
He stared at me hard. I stared at him back. Neither of us looked away from each other for another minute or so.
"I don't want it Woods. Fuck, just leave it." He turned to lay down on the bed,
Hell no, Mason. You aren't getting off that easily.
I reached forward to grab his by the shoulder and forcefully turn him to face me. I shoved that loaf of bread into his mouth and he immediately sits up, pushing me away.
He coughs and takes the bread from his mouth. Alex looks to me in anger.
"I said I wasn't fuckin' hungry!"
Mason pounces me and soon we're wrestling around the already cramped cell. I swear the other inmate could hear our yelling and banging on the concrete walls. I couldn't believe we were wrestling like five year old but fuck- he was going to eat that fucking bread even if I had to shove it down myself.
"Quit being a bitch Mason!" I yell as I fight off his arms. I really didn't know who was winning.
"Fuck off Woods!" He growls back.
"Stubborn bastard!"
"Inconsiderate fucker!"
We yelled more insults to each other as we continue banging around the room, it almost takes me back to the old times. This wasn't the mere tackling, head locking, and that soft shit. We were actually punching each other. I managed to lay some hits on him and he managed some on me. We both trained in what we did, we knew how to block, defend, and hit at the right time. So with two SOG soldiers trying to beat up the other, it didn't exactly work out.
That was when the day's work took a toll on me. My sore muscles eventually gave out and Mason had both my arms pinned down besides my head. I laid there out of breath and stared at him on top of me. He was breathless as well. We stared at each other for the longest of time. I didn't know why he hasn't gotten off of me yet- nor did I really want him to. Wait, did I just think that?
I didn't know if he could really read my thoughts or what. He moved, but not to get off. I felt his breath as he leaned down to connect his lips to mine. It was shy at first, but I guess he got over that quickly. His kiss became more rough and I felt a hand run through my short cut hair. Mason worked quick. He moved from my lips to my neck, leaving a trail of thin saliva.
Fuck- not this again.
I could only recall the time that happened only a few days before. But this time, Mason was fully awake. At least, I think he was.
"Mason..." I panted out.
"Yeah..."
Shit. He replied. Oh shit.
He moves from my neck back to my lips. Mason's kiss was rough and more hungry. I told him to eat that bread. But that wasn't the problem. This was the problem. I knew I shouldn't be doing this, especially to my close friend. But fuck- I needed to. His hands travel to a very reactive part of me. I shouldn't be doing this. Stop. Now- fuck this feels good.
We broke apart for air when we realized we desperately needed it.
"You taste like fuckin' sour dough..." He says lowly, his hands never leaving their objective.
Sour dough. Shit, he needed to eat. And NOT be doing this. I had to fucking remind myself that.
"Eat. Mason."
He stops what he's doing and looks at me confusingly. That was when I kicked him off the small bed.
Déjà vu.
He hits the floor twice in one week. ( I can only assume it's still the same week. )
"What the fuck?" He glares up at me, confusion mixed in with that anger he had.
Cock blocked, that's what. Although I refuse to ever tell him that. Because that meant I was willing. And I wasn't. I was able to convince myself it was the lack of oxygen.
"Fuckin' eat the bread or I'll shove it down your throat."
This should really be rated M, lolol.
Reviews are appreciated~