Wew lads, I'm back from the dead with another 4-months late update. Things have been pretty wild since the last time around, but I'm glad to say I'm finally getting this out.

Another reminder to swing by my profile for some sweetass RLW art one of my good friends made. The link on my profile is broken, so you can access it through the poll I have posted. Both choices have links to the art.

In other news, I've taken imaginative writing as an elective at my school, and you could probably take that to mean that the (nearly nonexistent) quality of this story can potentially improve, at least for the remainder of what's left to tell.

I hate to say it, but the story as I have it planned is finally nearing its end. I'd give it perhaps six more chapters (because I'd rather we end on a nice number 40), but you guys really don't have to worry considering how goddamn long it takes me to get these out. Think about it – there's really only three levels left to tell a story about.

It's kinda funny how this was supposed to be an MW2 story at heart but the MW2 arc has taken only about a third of the fic, potentially a fourth. Then again, for the MW3 part I'm exploring both the US and 141 levels as opposed to purely Ranger shenanigans. Come to think of it, I kinda killed the point of this fic focusing on the lesser-paid-attention-to Ranger part of the Modern Warfare series.

Bit of a warning, there's some lewd content ahead. It's nothing that bad, but it's certainly worse than the degenerate practice of holding hands.

[UPDATE] New poll is up! Vote on who you think is RLW's best girl! And by that, I mean the one you'd rather be forced to marry at gunpoint...

Enough rambling, sit down, story time duderinos.

"We ready to go?" James asked, checking the safety on his AK and glancing around at the Russians surrounding him. "Oh, right. No English. Um…"

He glanced at the unconscious blonde slumped in the arms of the particularly scary-looking Russkie. From what he could determine, the girl was the only member of their group who spoke fluent English, probably making her their translator.

James held up an OK sign, hoping that they could at least understand the gesture. The guy and the female pilot both formed the sign and flashed it back.

James cautiously peeked the doorway into the room, checking down the hallway with his AK readied. He could hear the echoing of rapid footsteps loudly increasing in volume. He waved the Russians back and slammed the door shut, hearing the guards closing in. He slipped to the side of the door and gripped his rifle tighter, anticipating the door to fly open any second.

Pavel retreated into a corner with Natalia, fixated more on her than the door. He poised himself as to protect her with his body if they were found. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing Irina take up a position, her hands shaking as she pointed her pistol at the door. No doubt this was her first time actually killing.

He turned around and caught a glimpse of Natalia's resting face. She seemed so peaceful for once, a stark contrast to the stress Pavel always saw in her eyes. Seeing her so vulnerable reminded him why he felt like he had to protect her.

Pavel looked back when he heard blasts of gunfire immediately outside the door, combined with screaming and what sounded like bodies slamming against the wall and floor. The American seemed completely unfazed by any of it, merely waiting for someone to come bursting through. Pavel held Natalia tightly, completely unconscious of what he was doing. He felt the sensation of… something pressing against his chest, but it took the lowest priority.

Everyone waited for a few minutes, but despite the tension, the violence outside eventually ceased. The room became eerily silent, apart from the dripping of some water somewhere in the chamber. James carefully pulled open the door and was immediately met with the bullet-mangled corpse of a guard dropping through the doorway. A small, spherical object dropped out of the man's hand with a metallic thud as it began to roll across the floor.

"Shit! GRENADE!" James screamed, bending down to grab it, chucking it out into the hallway.

It crashed against the wall and bounced off, landing somewhere outside and detonating. The Ranger left the room and checked the hallways, astonished as he saw the bodies of multiple guards left slumped all over the place. From both ends he could hear footsteps, though one side was getting quieter and the other louder. He gestured to the others to begin moving in the direction away from the approaching soldiers and seek cover.

Pavel took position the farthest away from the hallway entrance as he could, still cradling Natalia. He glanced over his shoulder, hearing faint gunfire behind himself. It sounded like it was just outside the compound. Who was assaulting the facility?

"Damn," James grunted, checking his rear and hearing the fire fade away. "Whoever came through here is already gone. We gotta find our own way out, guys."

Right after he spoke, he turned around to face a handful of Russians approaching with blinding flashlights equipped. The beams of light danced around the hall, reflecting off the pools of blood forming on the floor. Pavel and Irina looked at each other nervously, able to understand their chatter.

"Contact at twelve o'clock!"

"Cover me, frag out!"

James heard a word vaguely resembling "grenade" and prepared to fire around the corner, but he was promptly suppressed by an ungodly storm of rounds pelting the wall. The deafening sound of the gunfire pounded against his eardrums relentlessly. He awaited the arrival of a primed frag grenade. Irina leaned out from her cover in the doorway and carefully aimed her pistol. Two shots and a scream of pain later, something heavy bounced on the stone floor. James felt the shockwave of the frag detonating and taking out more guards. One of the men clawed his way over, groaning. His legs were completely severed, reduced to a messy pulp of muscle and bone.

"Hey, you!" James said, pointing at Pavel. "Ask the fucker where we can find a radio!"

"My name is Koslov," Pavel replied, stepping past the Ranger and kneeling down over the downed guard. "Is there a communications station anywhere nearby?"

"Y-Yes! Down the hall, past t-three doors… on the left! Put me out of my misery, please!"

"Another question. Where are we?"

"Karlstejn Castle. Near P-Prague."

Pavel looked at Natalia, then at a bloodied MP412 on the ground. He frowned at the soldier, picking up the gun and pressing it against his forehead. He stood up with the gun in hand and turned to walk away.

"Wha-? What are you doing?" the guard moaned.

"I'm not wasting these rounds on you."

Pavel reported the location of the communications room to James, and the four made their way there. After finding it completely abandoned, James immediately took a seat at the table while Pavel set Natalia down in a chair. Irina watched the door.

"Man, how the hell do I get on the American frequency…?" James grumbled, fiddling with the controls.

Natalia's eyelids weakly opened, and she whimpered quietly. She blinked multiple times, struggling to make out her surroundings. The first thing that came into focus was her team leader's face.

"Pavel!" she cried, reaching for him before feeling a sharp pain in her torso, wincing as she settled back into the chair.

"Natalia, you're still injured, all right? We're getting out of here like I promised," Pavel reassured her, gently putting a hand on her shoulder. "Listen, you need to help our friend here. He needs to contact the Americans."

"Th-The Americans?" Natalia gasped, her eyes widening. "I-I… we…"

"I understand, but they're our only hope!" Pavel interjected, helping her up from her seat and guiding her over to the table.

She anxiously glanced over at James, her hands shaking as she reached towards the knobs on the radio. She explained what she was doing, mostly to herself, manipulating the controls the best she could in her condition.

"Y-Yes. I think that this is a frequency the Americans can intercept," Natalia said, her voice trembling. "They m-might think it's not legitimate, as it is not encrypted."

"It's good enough. Thank you very much," James nodded, sliding the microphone over. "This is Corporal James Ramirez of the 75th Rangers, First Battalion, Hunter Company, callsign Hunter 2-1. If anyone receives this transmission, I am requesting extraction from a Russian stronghold at Karlstejn Castle, near Prague. I have Russian personnel with me who possess significant intelligence on Kingfish."

James released the button, sighing and blessing himself. Hopefully someone on the other end heard it.

"All right, you fucks, drop everything you're doing!" Heidegger ordered, opening the door to the rec room where his SEALs were relaxing. "Kit up, we're going right back out!"

"What's going on, boss?" McCoy inquired, tossing aside a porno mag.

"I'll brief all of you before we head out."

McCoy tossed on his plate carrier and the rest of his gear in his locker before jogging out with the SEALs. They met Heidegger standing beneath the camo netting of the outdoor command post, a small projector displaying the image of a heavily-fortified castle.

"We received a transmission from this guy right here, Corporal James Ramirez, 75th Rangers. He's requesting extraction from Karlstejn Castle, where Ivan's been running the Prague occupation force from."

"Why the fuck is this guy important to us?" a SEAL piped up.

"He's not," Heidegger growled. "But he mentioned that he's also picked up a few friends in that shithole. We're heading out to seize what we believe are Russian intel assets that can point us in the right direction to catch some bad motherfuckers."

He raised a hand to quiet the mumbling that erupted.

"Yes, I'm talking about Kingfish. Ramirez is likely referring to that rogue Spetsnaz team that's been working to find him. I'll answer any questions you have, wheels up in five."

Natalia felt herself getting weaker by the second as she kept her eyes fixated on the door. She felt like a prisoner yet again, locked in this room and unaware of anything happening outside. They received a response that a team was dispatched to retrieve them, and to hold fast until they arrived. Whatever was on the other side of the door was frightening Natalia, much like a child afraid of the closet in the middle of the night. Whether it be Russians or Americans barging through it, she couldn't help but feel unsafe.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Pavel asked, pulling up a chair next to her. "You seem really tired even though you've been unconscious for a bit."

"Everything is… fine. I'm just-"

Afraid. Very afraid.

"-I'm feeling weak."

Pavel nodded, turning away and looking at James and Irina, who were both keeping watch.

"It's okay to rest, we have it covered. I'm right here. Don't worry."

"Thank you… Pavel," Natalia said quietly, closing her eyes.

She found herself falling onto his shoulder, her hand instinctively reaching for something to hold onto. Her fingers made their way into someone else's, and she smiled as they interlocked with hers. There was a way he made her feel protected despite everything going on around her.

After an indeterminable amount of time, Natalia was stirred from her sleep by something shining in her face. She opened her eyes to see a blinding light in the doorway. She squinted as it lowered towards the ground, and she saw the silhouettes of men with guns moving into the room. She jerked up in her seat, seeing Irina gunned down before she could even raise her gun. She clung to Pavel as he reached for his pistol, but not before a hole appeared between his eyes and splattered blood on Natalia's face, his head lolling backwards. Natalia turned towards the men in terror before they placed two rounds in her chest, her body sliding off the chair and crumpling onto the floor in a pool of blood.

McCoy buried his face in his hands as the night landscape flew by outside the window. Every day of his life, he relived Los Angeles. From that unforgettable night with Catherine to the last thing he ever heard her say to him, he remembered it all too vividly for his own good.

She kissed him again, pulling away and biting her lip as she stared into his eyes. This girl was absolutely heated, and there was no doubt about it. She kicked off her high heels, sliding off the chair and kneeling on the floor. McCoy gulped as she playfully opened his legs, giggling as she glanced up at him over her glasses.

"I guess I don't mind doing all the work," Catherine purred.

When she started unzipping his pants, McCoy decided that he had to speak up.

"All right, stop right there," he snapped, gripping her wrist and forcing it away from his fly.

She looked up at him in absolute shock, unsure why he just cut her off. However, a few seconds later, McCoy got off the seat, still holding her wrist. He pinned it to the floor, straddling her body. He grabbed her other arm and then proceeded to kiss her back. She smiled up at him, feeling a bead of sweat work its way down her temple.

"Are you absolutely sure about this?" McCoy frowned.

"Yes! Yes, I am!" Catherine said, nodding.

He unbuttoned her blouse, opening it up to reveal a nude-colored, lacy camisole riding up just above her midriff. Pulling down her skirt, he discovered that she was wearing a matching set of panties, along with a garter keeping up her dark stockings.

She actually put in the effort to match all of this! Holy fuck, she meant for this to happen!

"I have to say, you look incredible," McCoy admitted, taking the moment to appreciate what he was seeing. "I really hope you don't mind me taking it all off."

"That's the point, isn't it?"

After he carefully undid everything, he stroked her cheek and kissed her one last time before shifting himself upwards.

The next morning had the entire library bustling with activity as the resistance prepared for their operation to secure the weapons cache. To further complicate matters, a couple of people had gone missing on a patrol the night before, meaning that the resistance had to temporarily relocate just in case any of them revealed the safehouse's location. This meant that some of the key support personnel would also have to head out.

Whenever McCoy passed Catherine, she would always turn away and carry on, occasionally glancing at him after he walked past. It was perfectly understandable considering the night before, but McCoy really wanted to talk with her a bit more.

He pulled his midnight gray jacket over his low-profile chest rig and adjusted his plain tactical khaki pants, looking at himself in a bathroom mirror and trying to make it look inconspicuous. The entire point was to look like a civilian and blend in a bit better, but the fact that he was in enemy-controlled turf meant he had to bring some stuff that would stick out a bit. He decided to ditch the backpack, as he used up pretty much all of the charges he was carrying and he was supposed to extract with other Special Forces operators at the weapons cache anyway. He adjusted his low-profile throat mic and hooked the earpiece on before finishing it all off with a coyote brown tactical cap. Slinging his M4A1, he headed out.

An hour of travel passed without incident, and the party was nearing the objective. McCoy keyed his radio and spoke quietly.

"Vicious 1-1, this is Vicious 1-4, we're a klick out from the weapons cache. How copy, over?"

"Solid copy, 1-4. Everything is clear. Hell, we had two enemy recon patrols walk right past our position. Hurry your asses up already. Over."

The location was a convenience store, with a plain white Ford pickup parked at the gas station right in front of it. The team picked it because they could easily hide their disguised SOTV-B pickup in plain sight, not to mention the potential bonus of free Slurpees and dip inside the store. McCoy and his group opted to enter through the back door to prevent being seen.

"Hey fuckheads," he announced as one of his team members opened the door for him. "I'm tired as shit. Can someone get me a drink?"

"Sure thing, bro," the leader, Virus, said from behind the counter. "Slush machine is down though. Yeah, we're salty about it. Got all the dip we need, though."

"Man, you know me. I don't fuck with that shit."

"Whatever, bring 'em in."

About five resistance shooters walked in, followed by three support people including Catherine. The first thing that the Special Forces soldiers noticed was that all of them except one were using Chinese-issued bullpup QBZ-97s chambered in 5.56 NATO, presumably because the PLA wanted to take advantage of captured American ammunition. The odd man out was the shifty guy McCoy met the day before. He was holding a QBZ-03 with some mounted attachments.

"Not bad," Virus remarked, sliding over the counter and walking over to a row of green containers piled against the wall. "Anyway, let's walk you through some of the shit we brought. Cash, get the fuck off the box."

Cash grinned and hopped off his crate, flipping the latches and opening it to reveal a pile of premade C4 charges and clappers.

"These are easy. Toss them in a pile of explosive shit or hide one in a baby carriage, hit the switch, they go boom."

The next box held two sentry guns, made from modified miniguns with targeting units mounted to tripods. There were also a number of small beacons scattered in the container.

"M5 sentry gun, it shoots at shit that isn't marked with this little thingy," Virus explained, holding up a beacon. "You can set it to automatically fire or you can trigger it with a remote to go loud when you need it to."

McCoy popped open the next crate. It contained maybe five FIM-95 Stinger launchers.

"We figured helicopters are probably a bitch to deal with. Insert one of these battery things into the handguard sometime near when you're gonna use one. Make sure your backblast is clear so you don't burn your ass first, point at an enemy bird, bird goes boom. Simple shit, if a bunch of dirty sand dwellers did it in Afghanistan some decades ago you guys can."

The rest of the crates contained simpler ordnance, like ammunition, grenades, and flares. There was also a container of old digital camouflaged MOLLE vests and loose pouches to go on them. While everyone else inspected the new gear, Catherine opted to put one on. She began to struggle, her head buried inside of the vest as she stumbled around trying to don it.

"Lemme help you with that," McCoy said, chuckling as he unzipped it and adjusted it around her body. She let out a short yelp when he ran his hands down her sides to make sure it fit right.

"Of course you're touching her, you pervert..." Cash smirked. "Next thing you'll be pounding her while we babysit more idiots with bad trigger discipline."

"I- uh, hehe," McCoy sheepishly smiled, quickly stepping away while Catherine bit her lip and looked at him. "Shut the fuck up, dude."

"Where can I take a shit?" the resistance guy with the QBZ-03 blurted.

"Uh, bathroom's out back, here's the keys," Virus replied, tossing him the keys. "Watch your ass, make sure nobody spots you."

As the man dashed past him to the door, McCoy approached Catherine to the corner of the store. She was seemingly inspecting the condoms.

"I realized, you don't have a gun, do you?" he asked, trying his best to avoid her apparent interest in Trojan Magnums.

He unholstered his Glock 19 and placed it in her hand, and her fingers coiled around it immediately.

"Whoa there, keep your finger off the trigger-!" McCoy snapped, moving her finger. "Anyway, if for any reason I'm not nearby, you use that to protect yourself."

Catherine nodded, heading towards the crate to find herself a holster just as a soldier burst through the door and bumped her way past her.

"Holy fuck, Virus, we needa dip the fuck outta here," he gasped. "Was on the roof, spotted maybe twelve guys headed our way along with a fucking IFV!"

"An IFV? How the hell did they find us…? Never mind, get in the truck, we're leaving!"

The soldier nodded and bodyslammed the door open as Cash went for the truck. As he was starting it, a ZBL-09 rolled up to the gas station. Before he could bail, its machine gun opened fire and smashed the window, tearing his body up with rounds. It began to drive over the truck to crush it, turning its main gun towards the convenience store. Before they could get out of the way, two of the shooters in the doorway were ripped to pieces by a volley of canister shells, a third guy being hit by penetrating the boarded-up windows.

McCoy quickly forced Catherine to the floor and shielded her with his body as the autocannon stopped firing. He motioned to her to stay down as he rolled from the aisles to the counter and opened fire on a pair of soldiers coming in.

"McCoy, take the charges, get out the back door and get that shit on the pumps!" Virus ordered.

"On it," he replied as Virus broke cover to provide suppressing fire.

McCoy passed right by another shooter just as his head exploded, spraying blood and brains onto the shelves. He headed to the crate with the C4, which happened to be situated near the door in the IFV's line of sight. He dived towards it just as the IFV opened up with its machine gun hitting him once in the calf and twice in the thigh.

"God… DAMMIT!" he groaned, having to use his arm to pull his leg into cover. "FUCKING CHINK PIECES OF SHIT, I'LL KICK YOUR ASSES!"

He reached over his shoulder to get one of the charges, pausing momentarily as he saw his M4A1 lying on the other side of the door. He felt a soft hand tightening around his own, and he turned to his side to see Catherine. She handed his pistol back to him before taking the C4 from his other hand.

"Catherine, what are you doing? Take the gun back and put that down, you need it… agh-!"

"I can do this," she said, her voice wavering. "I promise, we'll make it out."

Before he could protest, she hugged him tightly, kissing him as her hands gripped the back of his shirt.

"I never got your real name, did I?"

"Collins. Marshall Collins."

"Marshall, I lo… I-I'll be back to help you g-get out of here," Catherine stammered, rushing to the back door while Virus opened fire on the soldiers coming in.

"McCoy, I'm nearly dry! Toss me a mag, will ya?"

He reached into his pouch to slip out a magazine when he looked up to see Virus take a round to the back of the head and drop onto the floor.

"What the…?" McCoy mumbled, looking to the back of the store to see the suspicious guy from earlier with his assault rifle raised. "SON OF A BITCH! WHY AM I NOT SURPRISED!?"

He emptied his pistol into the man, a majority hitting him and taking him out. He turned around to see the entire gas station burst into flames, the explosion of both C4 and gasoline rocking the store. The crew of the IFV was roasted alive before its rounds cooked off and blew it up.

McCoy silently got to work dressing his wounds, biting down on a piece of gauze, his eyes tearing slightly as the fire crackled outside. Somewhat satisfied with his own work, he spat out the gauze and grabbed one of the sentry gun tripods to use as a makeshift crutch. He hobbled outside, pistol in hand.

"Catherine!" he yelled, looking around. "Catherine?"

He felt a sudden pull at his heart as he waited for a reply. He repeated his calls to no avail. Trying to shake all of the intruding thoughts out of his mind, he went back into the convenience store and sat behind the counter.

There he remained for a couple of hours, then a day, until he lost track of the time he had spent in the store. Only when some National Guard Humvees rolled in to pick him up did he realize that she wouldn't be coming back.

"Let me fucking see the bodies, dammit!" he growled as two Guardsmen tried to force him into the back of the vehicle.

They allowed him a moment to investigate the corpses they had neatly laid out on the pavement. Despite the fact that they were either roasted or swarming with maggots, McCoy could tell that none of them were female. Either Catherine was completely vaporized in the blast and sacrificed herself, or she managed to live and just never came back for him.

Both possibilities were equally as heartbreaking to him.

Natalia awoke with a scream, clutching her chest as she breathed heavily, looking around the room. Pain shot through her upper torso, and it hurt to breathe, but she couldn't control herself at all. The first thing she did was check if Pavel was all right, and confirmed that he did not have a hole in his head. She then realized that she was fine, everyone in the room was alive, and that it must have been a nightmare.

"Is everything all right!?" Pavel asked with concern in his voice. "Are you okay!?"

She wanted to answer him, but she was completely speechless. She sniffled a few times and immediately broke into tears, covering her face as she sobbed, continuing to aggravate her injury. She turned and hugged Pavel tightly, broken bone be damned, hiccupping as her fingers clenched around his shirt.

Her crying was a combination of the horrifying episode she'd just experienced, the agony of her fractured rib, and a little bit of happiness that Pavel was alive.

"Please, don't worry," he said reassuringly. "The Americans are sending men to rescue us, we can finally be safe."

"Safe…?" Natalia choked. "I wasn't fucking safe the last time they had me locked up! Why would I want to leave this prison just to end up in another one?"

"You know the Americans are different," Pavel responded sternly. "And you told me everything about what happened last time."

She instantly remembered Frost, and how he talked to her alone, and how he came to stop the men who were about to do unspeakable things to her.

"And… even if it's the same, you know I'll be with you."

After speaking those words, Pavel felt Natalia's hold on him become a little bit stronger. He smiled softly and patted her head.

"Well, looks like there's at least some good in the world," James remarked, shaking his head with a smile of his own.

"Yeah, Boss, we messed 'em up, no sweat," Derek said confidently over the phone. "That so? Good to hear our little vacation isn't getting interrupted anymore. Okay, bye."

Jenna looked at him from where she was kneeling next to the bed, raising her chin off the sheets.

"Are you sure you'll be fine? Like, I know that I didn't find anything wrong, but I can't help but feel a little bit worried…" she said.

"Jenna, I'm perfectly fine," Derek replied, smirking. "Besides… I did have a pretty cute-looking medic taking very good care of me. That must count for something."

"I-I… you… AGH!"

As he watched her walk away with her hand pressed to her cheek, Derek momentarily wondered what Jenna would look like in a nurse's uniform. His eyes followed her legs, slowly coming up to her swaying hips. Despite being PT shorts, he still had a pretty nice view, and his verdict was that she would look quite lovely in one.

"I think I'll get ready now, then," she said, turning around. "By the way, we still need to return the moped after leaving it at that one spot after it died."

She emerged from the bathroom appearing similar to how she did the day before. However, she didn't have her hair tied back at all, she wore a different hairclip, and it seemed like she somehow did a better job of taming her shaggy mess of a hairstyle in general. That being said, she still had a single cowlick that just refused to stay down. Derek wondered exactly how she managed to apply her eyeliner so quickly, considering how she pretty much never wore makeup. Along with her eye shadow and lip gloss, it was still a bit jarring to see how much of an improvement it made to her appearance. He was used to seeing a plain, though attractive girl in full kit wearing a watch cap and a headset.

Derek quickly freshened up and walked out with Jenna, this time making sure that his phone was charged. He felt slightly anxious without his weapon, as he expended all of his ammo the day before and thus it would be useless to bring.

About two hours later, the sky was beginning to dim as the two continued their search for the moped. It became painfully clear that neither remembered exactly where it was, and that they were totally lost. To make everything worse, they weren't in the area where servicemembers usually hung out, meaning that there weren't as many English-speakers to talk to.

"Let's face it, we're one hundred percent lost," Jenna sighed.

"No we're not, I'm pretty sure I've seen that one croissant stand," Derek said.

"Maybe because we've passed it three times in the past fifteen minutes…"

Derek turned to her and frowned.

"Why are you being so sassy right now? You have a better idea?"

"Yeah, just fuck the moped, let's just head back."

Derek felt like dropping to the ground for a moment.

"It… was your idea to go and get it…"

"All right, all right, fair enough. Anyway, I'm getting kinda hungry."

"Jen-! Okay, fine, it's all good, we've been walking around for a while now. Here's a bakery. I'll run in and grab something real quick, we'll figure out how to get home from here."

He entered the bakery and emerged a few minutes later with a paper bag with bread sticking out the top of it. It crinkled as he held it out for Jenna.

"Baguettes," she said. "Can't get any more French, I guess."

"Are you complaining?" Derek groaned.

"No, this is perfectly fine," Jenna nodded as she struggled to break the bread in half.

"Are you seriously having trouble with that?"

Jenna puffed out her cheek and pointed the baguette in Derek's face.

"You know what, maybe it's not my fault my hands hurt from shooting, getting hit on stuff while jumping around, and taking care of you," she pouted. "And… you already know my hands are tiny."

Derek smiled mischievously, his eyebrows raised as he poked Jenna's cheek.

"Are you trying to ask me something?"

Jenna averted her eyes in embarrassment and thrust the bread out towards him.

"Can you please break it for me?"

He took it and immediately split it, a few crumbs exploding everywhere as he held both pieces close.

"Um, could I have my half?"

"I dunno, your hands hurt, don't they? I think I have to feed you."

With that, he thrusted the piece of bread towards her, and she recoiled away from it. He snickered and tried again, succeeding in pressing it into her lips. Her eyes flickered down towards the baguette, then back up to Derek. She frowned, looking away as she reluctantly bit onto the bread with a quiet "ahm." She tore off the piece and chewed on it awkwardly before proceeding to bite the baguette yet again.

"I'm done now," Derek laughed, letting go of it and seeing Jenna's eyes widen as she quickly took hold of it on her own. "You're so easy to screw with, you know that?"

"What? Hell no! I'll have you know that when I was still with the Rangers, they called me the Queen of Screwing!" Jenna declared triumphantly after taking the baguette out of her mouth.

"You sure you didn't get that for some other reason…?"

"W-Wait, I didn't mean it l-like that! Like, screwing around, you know, fucking with people?"

"You're not making it sound any better that way."

While they bickered, a woman in an apron passed by, slowed down, then backtracked towards them. Recognizing their English, she nervously interrupted.

"I, uh, are you two… American?" she inquired in a noticeable French accent.

"Yeah."

"I guess? Wait – yes."

"Ah. Tourists? Or…?"

"We're actually soldiers," Derek explained. "We're on leave, you see."

"Oh! W-well, um… I work at this restaurant down the block," the lady said, pointing down the street. "Soldiers eat free, it is our way of saying thank you. That is, for helping to protect our city."

With that, she led them to the restaurant. On the way, she piped up again.

"So, are you two…" she began, remembering that she caught one feeding the other. "Dating? Is that the right word?"

"Wha-? I-! W-W-Well, um, ehh…" Jenna fumbled, blushing instantly with a glance towards Derek.

Well, someone was bound to ask, Derek mused, turning a bit pink himself. "Yes."

"W-We ARE!?" Jenna blurted, looking to see Derek with an amused smile.

"That's nice. You two look good together."

They made it to the restaurant and parted with the woman. They were seated and soon after placed their orders. As they waited, both of them were silent. Jenna fidgeted with her fingers while Derek looked around at the waiters and waitresses running around.

"So that thing earlier, the dating thing," Jenna asked. "What was that all about?"

"I wasn't being serious," Derek admitted. "Besides, saying would be easier than explaining to the lady that two colleagues of opposite sex happen to be going out together dressed nice."

He found himself staring at the gray sweater she was wearing. Her sleeves were pushed up to her elbows, and on her necklace was a simple circular pendant resting on her chest. She wasn't particularly well-endowed, but there was still a subtle curve there. His gaze followed her neck up to those round, hazel eyes of hers. He had noticed that no matter what, they never seemed to be red, even after a day outside the wire without eye protection or proper sleep.

Derek never really looked at her for more than five seconds, even when talking to her. Seeing her now, however, made him realize that she was actually… really adorable. It wasn't just her face, either. Her laugh never failed to make him crack a smile himself, and there was something about her energy that made it fun to hang out with her. Seeing her bummed out lately was actually making him a bit sad himself. All of the guys noticed, and her personality always brought a touch of life to their everyday work.

Then it hit him – he loved seeing her smile. He wanted her to be happy. The job took a lot out of everyone, there was no denying it at all. Even if she too was stressed out along with everyone else, she still managed to find ways to make it just a bit more enjoyable. He'd even grown fond of her quips and stupid remarks during combat, and he found those annoying as all fuck at first.

Resting his elbow on the table and leaning on his chin, he watched her return to twiddling her thumbs. He thought back on what that woman had asked him earlier – were they dating?

I sure wouldn't mind it, he thought to himself.

Tenno friggin' Heika. Finally did it. Months of hiatus hell and a New Year's later, this is it, guys. I feel like a huge piece of shit for leaving it hanging, even if life got really busy for me lately. Like, I promised I'd dedicate myself to this fic, and here I was, just letting it be buried in the back of the CoD section.

I'm really sorry, guys.

Well, that out of the way, I do hope you enjoyed this. It was kind of hard to push past the writer's block to get this done, and in the process I think I crammed too much lovey dovey stuff into this chap even for my standards. Seems like a lot of you guys eat that up anyway, but still, I'm hoping to bring things back to a more normal level.

Props to my best friend and dedicated fan for helping me out the whole way with this. Couldn't do it without him. He also has to put up with endless headcanons and memes and shit I send him about this fic. In fact, he knows things that are canon but I'll never write into the story. On that note, if there is anything you are curious about at all regarding the characters, shoot me a PM! Literally anything about Jenna or Natalia or the cast, I probably have something in my refs regarding it.

Triple ship this chapter. It's reaching the breaking point with both big pairings. And for you James X Jenna lovers out there – I'm telling ya, they really do care about each other, I promise! It'll all work out, you'll see what I mean.

Seems like McCoy has more to him than being kind of a dick and an awkward piece of shit around Jenna. Maybe I meant this, or maybe it's a shitty attempt at late characterization. You never know with me.

I apologize if the lewdish stuff sucked. I don't have much practice, but we all start somewhere, right?

It's 5AM in Virginia right now, and I have a flight later on today, and I'm really tired, so this ends what has to be a new record for my shortest A/N wall of text ever. Hope you guys (or at least what's left of you) liked it. Don't be afraid to speak up and ask questions or drop a review, I promise I'm not as much of a dick as I can come across as. Also, S/O to the fans who consistently show up to give RLW some love, you are the fucking best. Anon readers who… read, you guys are awesome also. And to the weirdo I've seen reading from a country apparently called Satellite Provider – how the fuck are you doing that? (Yes I know what it means, but still, what?)

Oh, and here's to 2017 – no WW3, and hopefully I update more than twice.