A Faint Cold Fear
LoneWolfSniper
13. One More Day
Rated: T - English - Adventure/Suspense - A. Mason & F. Woods - Reviews: 7 - Updated: 04-07-12 - Published: 12-18-11 - id:7647134
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Author's Note: Well, I certainly didn't expect the last chapter to be thought over and posted in a matter of hours. Alright, so, here's the thirteenth chapter to my story. I'm going to be completely honest with you and say that I've never gotten so far into a story before. The most has probably been six, then I pull it. Guess this story is starting to mean something, huh? Also, sorry for the delay. Two excuses; writer's block and internet issues. On one hand, I was stuck with four pages and a not-so-promising chapter, and also (because of the sun spots and solar issues) Verizon was being a you-know-what. My sincerest apologies. Also, I've taken a daring situation and am currently writing another story – this one under Avatar in the movies section of fanfiction – so I might not be updating as regularly as I used to. I'm using "regularly" loosely because I've been neglecting my writings for this story as well.
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from Call of Duty. They rightfully belong to Treyarch.
Anger and intolerance are the enemies of correct understanding. – Mahatma Gandhi
"So, he said I just have to take it easy and I'll get out early?"
Judging by the question and the tone she used to pronounce it, the corporal had assumed that it was simple enough to have done. Taking it easy wasn't all that a challenge. To the agent, "taking it easy" was something along the lines of going hot with a sniper rifle and scattering a few rounds rather than slaughtering the entire population of fair game. On the other hand, going a little trigger happy was hard to maintain, especially when you're given the all clear to let loose and have some fun. Of course, the corporal was a professional in what she did, and she knew how to control herself. It had been yesterday when the sergeant had talked with the doctor, leaving the hospital rather than going back up to his colleague's room. He had almost gotten hell for it, the only excuse being the good news he had to deliver.
"No," The officer growled. "He said that if you take it easy, you might get out early."
"And there's a difference?" The corporal asked with a hint of amusement. After receiving a glare, she thought it best to change the topic at hand. "So, anything going on at work?"
"Nothing too important," Woods shrugged, leaning back in his chair.
Thompson was smart enough to know what that meant – important enough to not want to be heard by unnecessary ears and seen by unnecessary eyes – and she was also smart enough to drop the topic altogether. The corporal sighed, shaking her head as she sat up in bed, looking at the IV tree; half empty. Normally, Woods stayed until it was empty, then he would depart and arrive again later on.
Thompson closed her eyes, and the faces of family members flashed before her dark eye lids, skittering across her vision before melting into darkness. Her father, a retired Marine Corps officer that took action on the hellish day of Iwo Jima, getting wounded and receiving a purple heart as well as a silver star for dragging a friend to safety. Her sister, Captain Rachel Thompson, a nurse in Korea who had died after her field hospital got hit with mortars and was raided for what little supplies the joint had left. Her brother, Derek Thompson, a current Navy SEAL who the corporal assumed was having some fun overseas. She hadn't heard from him in a while – almost a year since both siblings last were able to make a phone call and have a conversation that didn't involve the war – but there was no shame in worrying for him. But what the corporal was truly worried about was her brother's little girl that was probably going to arrive in a few weeks, maybe a month or two. Thompson's sister in law wasn't giving the corporal updates, and she didn't blame the self righteous bitch for doing so; Hailey, her brother's wife, wasn't a big fan of war and destruction despite her husband being a part of one of the most elite forces known to man, and so she thought it approved to shun the corporal from any family ties, deeming a phone call turned argument ending with the exact words:
"You're just much too busy to be troubled with us, I guess. By the way, your niece is on the way; should be due in a few months. But you wouldn't know, would you? Too busy playing secret agent and having a vacation, hopping all over the world and traveling as if you don't want to be with your family. Her name-" At this, there was much disgust to the woman's tone as she spoke. "-your brother insisted on being Allie. A damn shame, too, that you won't be here to see somebody born when they're named after you."
That had ended the conversation being followed by a colorful curse, and on Thompson's end, she had thrown the phone across the room rather than slamming it back down on the receiver. The object had ricocheted off the kitchen countertop and smacked into an old photo, breaking the frame and causing the glass to blister a large crack across the center, coincidentally separating the corporal's smiling face from her father and brother's during their trip to Lake George when the agent wasn't even an agent, but the picture had been taken after her sister was killed. The picture was probably the only time her father had smiled after the incident overseas. Thompson still had the picture and frame, because every time she looked at it, it reminded her that her bitch of a sister in law was right for a change. Thompson hadn't told her brother of the phone call, because she loved him too much to bring his first well constructed relationship crumbling down, and so she chose to isolate herself from the family, as her sister in law had suggested. She didn't even know how her sister in law knew about her being a "secret agent". Now that was something she needed to talk to Derek about when she got the chance.
"So," She sighed, getting back on topic. "You going back home after we get a break from this shit?"
"I might," Woods shrugged. "Philly ain't what it used to be, though."
"So let me guess; you'll cut your time off in half?" The corporal guessed.
"Yeah," The sergeant shrugged. "Probably."
"Because stabbing a bastard over here for lookin' at you funny isn't as legal as it would be wherever the hell you were before joining the agency," Thompson chuckled, shaking her head.
Woods smirked, not able to help the corner of his mouth twitch upward. "You're just asking to stay in the hospital longer than you need to, know that?"
The corporal laughed. "And you'd be in the room right next to mine."
"Sure," The sergeant snorted, rolling his eyes. "I'd love to see that." The officer glanced at his colleague, shaking his head and giving a sigh. Sometimes, he swore he saw a bit of himself in the agent, but of course, that was more of a curse than a blessing. "How's your leg?"
"Decent," Thompson shrugged. "Sometimes it's stiff, sometimes it's not. I'm not limping or anything when I walk, so that's a good sign."
"And the head?" Woods against, tapping his temple with his index finger.
"I don't have a concussion," The corporal growled.
"And yet the doctor wants you here to be safe," The sergeant commented.
"If only he knew," Thompson said more to herself than Woods, shaking her head.
"Yeah," The officer said as he rolled his eyes. "And if we told him, he'd have a stroke."
"If we told him, the division would have a stroke," The corporal corrected, rousing a chuckle.
"So you're feeling up to getting out of here sooner than planned?" Woods asked offhandedly.
"Hell yeah," The corporal agreed. "Sometimes I honestly believe you can read minds."
"No, you're just too predictable," Woods mused.
"I can believe that," Thompson agreed. Judging by her tone, she didn't.
The sergeant glanced at the clock on the far wall, just under the fluorescent screen where several x-rays were slid into place. One was of the skull, another one of the corporal's upper body, and a third showed her leg. There had been nothing broken, but like Woods' conversation with the doctor, they wanted to be safe. The officer looked back at his colleague after checking the time, which was much too early for him to be at any hospital under any circumstances.
"I should go," He sighed, standing from his chair. It had been early in the morning to begin with, visiting the agent at five o' clock with the only exception being to show the security guard a flash of his ID along with a glint of a symbol telling what he was. The guard had let him pass without a word.
"Hey," Thompson called before the sergeant departed. "Anything comes up, you tell me."
"Don't worry about it, kid," Woods assured.
"I mean it," The agent warned, her tone dropping a few octaves. "You forget one thing and the next person in here is guaranteed to be you."
"Yeah, I'm real frightened about that," The sergeant mused.
"You've seen what I can do, how I can kill somebody, and you're not scared that I have the knowledge to severe your spinal cord and have nobody know about it?" Thompson inquired.
"I know how you can kill, and I'm impressed. I'm not scared because your ass would be on the ground as soon as you got within ten feet of my position," Woods explained as he rested back against the nearby wall, crossing his arms. "Besides, the way you come up behind somebody – and I'm not being as criticizing as I should be – it's not too hard to figure out what you plan to do. Not that it's a constant flaw; you're fine on missions. It's the shit you do stateside that worries me and gets your ass in trouble."
"Like?" Thompson pressed, gesturing for the man to continue.
"Do I need to point out that you're in a hospital?" Her commanding officer mused.
"I swear I'd come at you if I wasn't so tired," The corporal threatened.
"See?" Woods pressed, raising both eyebrows. "That's one of your flaws. Either physically or verbally, you tell me what your next move is. Everyone's noticed it, Allie. Not that it's an issue. You're a pro when we're bagging commies and their bitches, but when we're home and you're not worried about taking a bullet to the head?" The officer shook his head. "You're just too predictable. Case closed."
"I'm sorry, but how did we go from how long I'm staying here to how well I kill and then how I present myself as a threat?" The corporal asked.
"Just thought I could try a different approach to get your mind off the fact that you're injured."
"Right," The corporal snorted. "Like that would ever work."
"Well it's working now," Woods observed.
Thompson glared at her colleague before shaking her head. "You made that all up, didn't you?"
"Made what up?" The sergeant asked in an innocent tone.
"About me. About how I give myself away and tell what I do before I do it," She growled.
"Possibly," The officer mused, stifling a chuckle. "But it worked, didn't it?"
"Yeah," Thompson agreed, and her tone evoked a slight chuckle from her throat. "I guess it did."
"At least you admitted it," Woods commented. He glanced at the clock on the wall, and his eyes then shifted to the IV bag on the metal tree. It was nearly empty. I should get going, he thought as he began to head for the door. Don't need the nurse asking any questions. "Hey, I'll come back if anything comes up, alright kid?"
"Alright," Thompson nodded, glancing at the clock above her x-rays. "It's a bit too early for you to be here. Want to go out through the window instead of the hallway? I mean, you shouldn't risk being stopped and asked why the hell you're here."
"And going out through the window doesn't have risks?" The sergeant asked as he stretched.
"I assumed that you went out windows more often in your youth," Thompson teased.
"That's an inaccurate accusation," Woods quipped. "I only snuck out of some broad's room once."
"And were you drunk?" The corporal inquired, crossing her arms.
The sergeant snorted as he turned away. "I might have had one or two."
"Of course you did," Thompson snickered.
Woods arched an eyebrow. "What was that?"
"Nothing, sir," The corporal chuckled.
"You said something," The officer growled.
"I didn't say shit," Thompson quipped, and she found it hard to muffle the laughter in her tone.
Woods glared, but he eased up and gave his colleague a light shove. "I'm leaving."
"You're blushing," The corporal observed.
"Go to hell," Woods snorted, waving away the matter as he started towards the door.
"I've already got a one way ticket," Thompson mused. "Care to join me?"
At this, the sergeant turned. "I'm honestly debating whether or not to kick your ass."
The corporal shook her head with a smirk. "Can't hit a girl, Frank."
"You'd be an exception," Woods growled.
"So would you," Thompson teased.
The sergeant sighed. "You don't know when to give up, do you?"
"I do," The agent assured. "I'm just not one to back down."
"It's not hard to see that," Woods commented.
"Well you're no fun," The sergeant said sourly, glancing at the clock. "I better go."
The corporal thought for a moment. "Yeah, I guess the hallway seems better. I'll see you when something comes up. And you tell me everything, got it?"
Normally, Woods would've glared at the agent, would've reprimanded her for using such a tone, but instead he just smirked and shook his head, waving off the remark and gliding out the door before Thompson could further threaten him. Watching him go, the corporal couldn't help but think how long she would actually be in the hospital. All in all, she didn't understand why she had to be in the hospital for a few days, much less – how long has it been since she had gotten admitted here? – three days. Three damn days. Thompson sighed, resting her head back on her pillow. Woods had told her that she could be let out early, hadn't he? And "let out early" usually meant one day and then discharge, didn't it? A few papers signed, a few more papers looked over and approved, a file put into a cabinet, and then what? Freedom? A routine needing to get back to?
Another day, she thought as she closed her eyes, and if that ain't happening I'm shooting myself.
Upon closing her eyes, she made herself vulnerable to an hour or so of tossing and turning, nightmares and dreams that she didn't want to remember. But it happened all too often to the corporal for her to be afraid to go to sleep; a few seconds of running or screaming while hauling ass and she would then wake up, drawing herself back into reality with raspy breathing and twitching hands feeling her body to make sure she was still in one piece with everything intact. For some reason, though, she had stopped having the nightmares and began to dream more pleasant things. Sometimes she would see flashes of her father and brother, sometimes her mother – who had died of a thunderclap heart attack soon after Thompson had been born into the world – and they would be happy, smiling like they once did. Occasionally she would get a glimpse of her mind teasing her with ideas of what her soon to come niece would look like; sometimes dark hair, sometimes light. Sometimes blue eyes, sometimes brown. Her features would toy from one Thompson sibling to the other, but all the same, she looked like family; not a sliver of heredity from her bitch of a mother. That was something the corporal could relax on.
Unfortunately, sleep didn't come when her eyes closed, and Thompson grunted a sigh and pulled her eyelids back up. She sat up in bed, looking out the window that was darkened by the early morning and splattered with rain. The linoleum flooring was dark, light trickling in from under the doorway and illuminating the ground just enough for the agent to make out the contours of the room. With a groan, she laid back down, closing her eyes again and rolling onto her side, attempting to feel more comfortable. With a more pleasurable sigh, she found herself relaxed, and darkness overwhelmed her vision and hearing before she could drift into a state of semi consciousness.
"I'm tired of waiting," He growled, pacing the cell. "I'm tired of it."
"Patience, my friend," The calmer of the two cellmates cautioned.
"How can I be patient?" The American seethed, whirling on the Russian.
Reznov sighed, walking up to his friend and putting a hand on his shoulder. "Just think about it, Mason. Within a few days, you will be back where you belong, in your home country, with your family and friends. You will have freedom again, comrade. You will be surrounded by friends and family when you return." A pause. "Unlike me. You know what happened to me. I returned to Stalingrad, a hero with my remaining comrades, but Stalin had little need for heroes, as I told you before."
Mason nodded. "Dragovich."
A seemingly pained look crossed the man's face. "Yes. Dragovich brought me here. He thought me a thorn in his side, and assumed that a labor camp would be better than death." A pause. "He was right. I would rather die than stay here any longer, which is why tomorrow, we are to be free. Our fellow comrades will sacrifice themselves for us, for our fellow prisoners. My friend, there will be bloodshed tomorrow, which is why we must prepare. Tonight, we have prisoners preparing weapons and readying themselves. Tomorrow, Vorkuta will burn. I can promise you that."
"Run through the plan again?" It seemed more of an order than a request.
Reznov nodded. If it eased the man into a peaceful state of mind for one more day…