A Faint Cold Fear
LoneWolfSniper
12. And Off Calm Land
Rated: T - English - Adventure/Suspense - A. Mason & F. Woods - Reviews: 7 - Updated: 04-07-12 - Published: 12-18-11 - id:7647134
Author's Note: Well, it's good to be writing yet another chapter for my story. And sorry the last one took so long; went on The Dream Disney cruise, went to Epcot for the night afterward, came home sick with a head cold. Honestly, I think I've been slacking off on my work. But, nonetheless, sorry for making the last chapter so short. Writer's block; it's contagious. Anyway, enjoy.
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from Call of Duty. They rightfully belong to Treyarch.
A garden is a grand teacher. It teaches patience and careful watchfulness; it teaches industry and thrift; above all it teaches entire trust. – Gertrude Jekyll
Was she expecting visitors the following day? No. After word had spread, the corporal had received a visit from Bowman almost as soon as the chief petty officer had gotten the news. He didn't stay long, though; ten minutes, give or take. After that, Thompson had been left alone for the remainder of the night, spending her time trying to sleep. So the following morning, it was much of a shock to wake up and see Woods, sitting in the same position, in the same chair. It was as if he hadn't moved at all. Of course, the corporal knew that the sergeant hadn't been in her room all night; he had left shortly after their conversation, and after Bowman left, nobody else came into the room – visiting hours had just been notified to all guests that hadn't planned on staying – save for her assigned nurse to switch IV bags or a volunteer to ask if she needed anything. With the nurse, Thompson would ask if she could walk around, and with the volunteer, she requested the newspaper if it was available.
From that point on, Thompson had gotten a morning walk around the corridor and a good look into the daily events before anyone came into her room. Of course, on this particular day, Woods had beaten her, arriving before she had woke and depriving her of a lap around the hospital grounds or a look into the sports' section.
"Sleep well?" The sergeant inquired, one hand coming up and thumbing his eyes.
He hadn't gotten much sleep; the thought that the corporal might have been intentionally mugged had nagged him into a rough night. Nevertheless, he couldn't take sleep and had come to the hospital early, much to the patient's dismay. But when Thompson stirred and saw that she had company, she couldn't help but smirk. The corporal shook her head, giving a sigh before rubbing the back of her neck to smooth out the kinks and knots from sleeping on an all too soft bed. She would have to get used to it for the next few days.
"I should ask you the same thing," She mused, her tone teasing albeit irritated. "You look beat."
"Just been thinking," Woods assured, stifling a yawn and replacing it with a sigh.
"About?" Thompson pressed, cocking an eyebrow.
"Just, you know, shit from work and then some," The sergeant shrugged, leaning back in his chair to a more comfortable degree. "So, hospital treating you well?"
"Decent," The agent shrugged, propping herself up onto her elbows. "Food's good enough."
"And that's your primary concern?" Woods asked, folding his arms across his chest.
"I guess. If they're feeding me enough and the shit ain't poisoned to kill me or anything," Thompson replied, eyes flickering towards the officer when he shifted again. Second time he's done that, Thompson thought as she looked at her colleague. Bet my ass he didn't get any sleep at all. Well, I guess I'll just have to find out. "You sure you got enough sleep?"
"Yeah," The sergeant assured, acting more perked up and taking note that the agent probably knew he was lying. "Just a rough night."
Yeah, I'm sure it was. "Maybe you should have the doctor take a look at you next time he comes."
"Are you saying I need help?" Woods asked.
"No," Thompson shrugged, wincing as her shoulder sparked with irritation. "I'm just giving a friendly suggestion. I guess it has to do with it being my ass as much as yours."
"Are you saying that I have a health condition?" The sergeant asked, leaning forward.
"Maybe," The corporal mused. "But let's just say that you fall asleep on patrol-"
"Which won't happen." Woods growled, cutting her off.
But Thompson continued as though she hadn't been interrupted at all, "-and we're stuck in the middle of nowhere with Russians all over. If something happens, all of our asses are on the line, and trust me, that's a burden too heavy even for you."
"So you don't trust me on operations?" The officer asked, tilting his head.
"No," The corporal quipped, but a smirk curled at the corner of her mouth. "But it just came to me that maybe your lack of aim is caused by your lack of sleep."
"Sometimes," Woods sighed, shaking his head and cracking his knuckles. "I really wonder if you're just asking to get your ass whooped."
"Sorry, sir, but you'll have to wait until I'm outta here for that to happen," She teased. "I'm just giving a friendly warning. Get whatever the hell's bothering you checked out, and if it's something serious, then just screw it. Besides, weren't you chewing me out for being deprived of sleep?"
"That's different," The officer growled.
"And how so?" Thompson asked, cocking her head and toying with her hospital bracelet. "A commanding officer can't have an overworked subordinate, but it's just fine for the officer to feel out of place while on a mission and have the lower ranked get worked up?"
Woods was stiff for a moment, but then he shook his head. "I'm not saying that-"
"Then what language are you speaking in?" The corporal asked, cutting him off. "Frank, I'm fluent in both English and Russian, so I can understand a lot of shit. But right now, you make no sense whatsoever. I feel like I'm talking with somebody from God knows where."
"Are you saying that I'm not clear with myself, corporal?" The sergeant asked. Thompson visibly recoiled at the last word, feeling as though she had been slapped. Woods continued, "Look, I'm fine, alright? People lose some sleep, and then they get it back-"
"While on patrol," The corporal finished with an amused smirk.
"You just love to push it," The officer growled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And then you just go ahead and push it some more, kid. Honestly, one day you'll say something, and then whoever the hell you said it to won't hold back. And I won't be there to stop the bloodshed; I can promise you that."
"Oh come on, Frank, I'm just screwing with you," His colleague assured. "I know how far I can go with someone. It's not that hard to figure out somebody's limits."
"Right," The sergeant growled. "Why don't we continue this conversation when they disconnect you from the IV line? Right know, that seems to be the most sensible-"
"Miss Thompson?" A voice called, interrupting the sergeant in mid sentence.
Both agents turned, and standing in the doorway was the corporal's assigned nurse. The color slowly pooled from the younger agent's face, and she shifted nervously, badly wanting to be anywhere else. How much had she heard? Was she standing there the whole time? Questions thrashed around inside the corporal's skull, but by the look on the woman's face, she hadn't heard a thing. And that alone calmed Thompson, causing her to relax and allow the color to return to her cheeks and the life to spark back into her eyes. That was one thing off of her mind at the moment.
"Should I step outside?" Woods asked the nurse politely, already standing up from his chair.
The sergeant wasn't one to leave a colleague behind, but at the moment, he understood that the woman might need to do a few things, and if that included something that should put a fine line between both male and female, then he was ready to slip out the door for a moment. But the nurse gave the man a soft look of assurance, gesturing for him to sit back down.
"It's fine, dear," She assured, shuffling past him. "Just switching the IV bag here."
Both Woods and Thompson waited quietly while the nurse did her job, smoothing out her white uniform and stepping away, ready to head out and into the next room, but not before hearing, "Thanks, Nancy."
"Quite alright, dear," She replied. Just as she was ready to head out, she paused, turning back to the bed and handing the patient the morning paper. "I'm done with it anyway. Thought you could use some reading material to get you through another day here."
"Thanks," Thompson nodded gratefully, watching the nurse slip out before she picked up the newspaper that had been placed in her lap.
"Anything good?" Woods asked as the agent picked up the paper, folded over once so that the front page was obscured from her view. When the sergeant saw the corporal's face pale when she saw the picture, he immediately restrained himself from grabbing the news, instead narrowing his eyes. "What is it?"
But Thompson wasn't paying attention; immediately, the pieces to the puzzle began to fit together. She furrowed her eyebrows, looking at the square photograph, blinking multiple times as though she couldn't believe in what she was seeing. And that was exactly it; she couldn't believe what she was seeing. In the center of the page was a picture of a man. His skin was slightly paled, and his short yet slightly shaggy sand colored hair – faded and appearing white from the black and white print of the camera that had taken the picture – was swept out of dark eyes. Below the picture – under the headline, reading Man Shot After Mugging – was a statement about who the man was and what had happened. But of course, half of the article was fabricated. Thompson knew that, but she read it anyway. A Mr. John Smith had apparently been shot and robbed of his money just outside a phone booth at midnight, pronounced dead on the scene after taking a bullet to the stomach and another to the head. No witnesses, no leads.
"Jesus Christ," Thompson breathed, looking the picture over. The color to her face still didn't return.
"What?" Woods asked, trying to lean forward and look. "What is it?"
The corporal turned the newspaper at an angle so that the sergeant could see, and when the officer saw the picture and the headline, he just arched an eyebrow and looked at the agent. Sure, the kid had gotten mugged, but what did that have to do with this guy getting mugged? No more than a coincidence. At least, the sergeant hoped it was nothing more than a coincidence. The same guy that had mugged her decided to make another round, and on this guy he was less merciful. So, what of it?
"I can't believe it," Thompson growled, handing the sergeant the newspaper. "I just can't believe it."
"What? Was the guy that robbed you the guy that robbed this poor bastard?" Woods guessed.
I wish that were the truth. "No. The guy that robbed me is the poor bastard."
"Wait a minute," The sergeant growled, looking at the picture. "You're telling me that this guy-" He pointed towards the man in the newspaper, eyebrows furrowed. "-is the same guy that mugged you?"
The corporal nodded, feeling nauseous. "Just before I was out cold, I caught a glimpse of him under the light. And again when he was out on the sidewalk, and I asked him to light me up for a cigar. The flame sort of gave me a view of him, but not much, and now that I'm seeing a full picture of him, there's no doubt that this was the guy. Damn it-" She took the newspaper back, eyes skimming over the article. "-it says that nobody heard anything. How the hell could no one hear anything if he was shot? Twice?"
"A silencer?" Woods guessed.
Thompson turned the thought over in her head. "Maybe. I mean, unless everyone on the street is tone deaf, than I'm guessing that a silencer makes sense. But who would shoot him with a silencer? A gang boy on the street couldn't just go into a sporting goods store and buy one, at least not without some suspicion. And that suspicion would no doubt be put in with the story. So the gang boy theory's out. Then what? I mean, the guy in here looks like your average Joe, but I'm just seeing something about him. I mean, his features look like he came out of-" The corporal stopped at once, mouth open before she could finish. Her eyes flashed with a sudden realization, and she looked at Woods. "-Moscow."
"You think he's Russian?" Woods asked.
"No, I know he's Russian. Look at the features and tell me if he looks like an everyday American. I'm not trying to be racist, Frank, but I honestly think I'm right on this. And "John Smith" is his name? Really? That's about as fake as anyone can get," Thompson growled.
"Yeah," The sergeant said, looking at the man and agreeing with the agent. "He's Russian, alright."
"KGB?" The corporal guessed.
Woods momentarily glanced at her; not only was that what he had thought, but it was also what he had assumed the night before. Nonetheless, he sighed and shook his head. "That's my best guess right now. Don't get your hopes up, kid, we can't jump right to conclusions-"
"Unless we're correct," Thompson said, cutting the man off.
Woods eyed her before shaking his head. "That's just it. We might not be correct. It might just be a coincidence. You know, a dog eat dog scenario that just so happened to make the front page this time. Do you know how many muggings we've got in Washington? Enough; enough to catch somebody's eye and slap a picture on the front page if there's enough drama to it. Don't get me wrong, I'm backing you up on your theory, but there's always the possibility that's it's just a coincidence."
"I know that," The corporal sighed, tiredly leaning her head back into her pillow.
The sergeant looked her once over. "I can come back later if you want. You look beat, kid."
"I'm fine," She assured, lifting her head. "Just need to process it all and let it sink in."
"Then I can come back later, Allie," Woods insisted, grabbing his coat. "I can give you some time."
"I said it's fine, Frank," Thompson assured, waving off the suggestion. "I just need a minute."
"Alright," Woods nodded.
He leaned back in his chair with a sigh, and he dropped his coat back onto the chair next to him. He watched the corporal, her face slowly contorting in understanding before her eyes flickered with recognition. She looked back to the sergeant, eyes hard yet calm, and when she spoke, her tone was flat and determined.
"I need to get out of here," She growled, sitting up.
"No," The officer growled, leaning forward and placing a hand on her shoulder. "You're not leaving, not yet anyway. The doctor hasn't said anything other than the fact that you need to rest more, and I guarantee that you'll only get to the elevator before you're swarmed with security. Not doctors; security, because I also guarantee that you'll try to fight them off and make yourself worse, maybe put you back in bed for a few more days. Kid, just take a breath and calm down. You're getting yourself worked up over nothing. If we need to look into this, than I can come back here and give you updates, but you are not leaving this hospital until the doctor comes in with papers for you to sign."
"Woods," Thompson protested. "I'm not asking to get out of here."
"Really?" The sergeant asked with a smirk. "So you think that you can just walk out of here?"
"That was pretty much the plan, Woods," The corporal snorted, and she then quickly added as an afterthought, "Besides, it's better to ask forgiveness than permission."
"I'm sure it is," The officer growled, unbeknownst that the agent had said the exact same thing to Hudson the day before. Woods narrowed his eyes at the agent, crossing his arms. "Look, just take it easy. Maybe I can talk to the doctor and ask if he can let you off a day earlier. I don't know how it'll play out, but if I try, will you just promise to keep your ass in bed for a few minutes?"
Thompson looked at the officer, a smirk quivering on her lips. "He should be down at the cafeteria."
"And how would you know?" Woods asked.
The corporal allowed a sly grin to posses her lips. "I'm with the CIA, Woods. I know a lot of shit."
He began searching. Walking down the corridor, he occasionally glanced into a room that had the door open, but all the while, he had no luck in successfully finding the doctor. The sergeant had met him once or twice, and when the officer saw somebody, that image seemed to brand itself into his mind; a habit that usually came with needed to know names and faces and match them without the slightest bit of hesitation.
Woods figured he would take Thompson's words and check the cafeteria, but for some reason, he wanted to look around first; get a feel of his surroundings. Sure he had been to the hospital on numerous accounts, but he had only taken one route, and that consisted of the parking lot to the lobby, then to the elevator and up to the corporal's room. He didn't mind exploring, and if anyone asked, he would give an innocent look and say he was lost. Simple as that. After a few minutes of searching, though, he decided to just go down to the third floor, where the cafeteria was held. And sure enough, with a stroke of luck, Woods caught the man just as he was exiting the joint, collar tucked over and thin rimmed glasses pressed up against the bridge of his nose. The sergeant got the man's attention, and the Harvard graduate turned with a genuine smile and bright eyes.
"Can I help you?" He asked kindly.
"Doctor Johnson?" Woods asked; he knew who the man was, but just wanted to be sure.
"Yes, that's me," He replied, fully turning to face the sergeant. After giving him a once over, his smile curled and recognition flashed in his eyes. "You're Miss Thompson's friend, correct?"
"A colleague from work, yeah," The officer said. "Look, I just wanted to know how much longer she would be here? Not that I'm passing along a question from her to you, but when somebody's on absence, well, let's just say it gets a little complicated for everyone."
"I see," Johnson said with a nod. "Well, we assume that she doesn't have a concussion, and the only thing to really worry about is her leg. The beating wasn't severe, but it wasn't the simplest either. I'd say an extra two days, give or take, and we can discharge her. We like to be on the safe side here, Mr. Woods."
If only you knew. "Right, about that; she wants out. I'm not telling you how to do your job, but I'm just giving you a fair warning that she might ask you about it next time you go up. In all honesty, I don't even know why she can't relax for a few days."
"I take it she has a job that she enjoys?" The doctor guessed.
If you consider sneaking around the enemy lines, yes. "Well, it's a job that she prefers over other things, yeah. But, I was just wondering if she were to get out a day or so early? Not that it's important, but she's been asking me that, and I guess I just wanted to get an official reply from you to shut her up."
"Well, it all depends Mr. Woods," Johnson explained. "If she shows improvement and promises to take it easy if we do discharge her early, then it's considerable. She's already shown a remarkable recovery, and she has a high tolerance to pain." At this, the doctor looked cautiously at the sergeant. "What is her profession, exactly? Not that it's my business, but I was really just curious."
"We're both accountants," Woods said without hesitating. "We were actually having some coffee and a bite to eat, talking over work. She left early, and that was when she got mugged."
Johnson looked at the officer. "Alright then. Strange, you two don't seem like the type to sit around in an office. No offense, of course. Just my old age speaking for me, I suppose. Now, back on topic. Mr. Woods, you just pass along what I said to Miss Thompson and we'll play it by year from there. Fair enough?"
"I'll tell her," Woods assured, shoving his hands into his pockets. "She'll be glad to hear about it."
"I might stop by later to check on her," The doctor said while shaking hands with the sergeant. "Tell me, how's she doing now?"
"Aside from annoying the shit out of me about getting out of here?" He asked. "Just fine."