LEGAL DISCLAIMER:MacTavish, Price and the other characters you'll recognize from the Call of Duty: Modern Warfare series are the property of Infinity Ward/Activision/Sledgehammer Games/Raven Software.

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After a long night of aircraft noise and stale recycled air, she'd finally made it here, to this glass fishbowl of a room just outside the nurses' station. The room's lights were out, the slender LCD screen over the bed drawing bright jagged lines in the semidarkness. Pausing in the doorway, Kate Laswell allowed herself a deep, cleansing breath. She'd spent the last several days running on mostly caffeine and anxiety. Now that she'd seen him for herself, her profound relief was already draining away with the very last of her adrenaline, leaving her an exhausted, deflated husk.

While surrounded by the expected array of medical gear, other than the overhead monitor displaying his vitals, Price wasn't hooked up to that much of it. Not this time. A good sign, one she'd desperately needed. Most of the digital readouts and screens were dark. He had a blood pressure cuff wrapped around his arm, the clip on his finger, only a couple plastic bottles of fluid hanging overhead. Most importantly, no alarms were going off, at least not in here. Once she'd carefully shut the glass door behind her, the chatter, ringing phones and pinging alarms were cut off at once. The room was surprisingly quiet, apart from the soft hum of the equipment and the bubbling sounds from another bottle mounted on the wall, something to do with the oxygen being delivered beneath his nose. Noises far more ideal for sleeping, which was exactly what this patient was doing. Peacefully, soundly, with no idea of the worry he'd caused, or to how many.

Wires draped over the pillow beside him, past his sleeping face, his brow smooth and untroubled. A rare sight. One of the little pads stuck to his chest peeked out over the collar of his gown, tiny blue print on crisp white cotton. Watching the sky-blue bedclothes slowly rise and fall with his breathing, Laswell couldn't help but feel a bit envious. Their fresh linen smell reminded her of the bed awaiting her, one she'd never slept in but literally ached for.

Promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep, she thought. Not for the first time, and definitely not the last. She settled into the chair at his bedside, doing her best to stay quiet, but the crack of her knee gave her away.

The field of tiny blue medallions rose with a deep breath. A flutter of eyelashes not yet committed to waking, a raspy whisper. "Kate."

"Hey," she smiled, reaching over the thick plastic bedrail to gently clasp his bandaged hand. "Good morning."

Just as gently, he squeezed hers in return, though his eyes remained closed. "Keep hearing German," he mumbled. Where'm I, exactly?"

In her current state, Laswell needed to re-verify that for herself. She glanced down at the logo printed on his patient ID bracelet, and at the bright outline surrounding the drawn curtains. "Vienna. Where it's a beautiful sunny day outside."

"Hmm. Everyone else still upright?"

"Yeah."

"Good." He grimaced, swallowing hard.

"It's from the tube. You were on life support for a while, John. You stopped breathing, gave us all a pretty good scare. Up until yesterday, this room was a much busier place."

"How long?"

"Three days."

His face crumpled. "Wasn't from being shot. What the hell'd they get me with?"

"The doctor says it was a neurotoxin of some kind, similar to TTX — the venom found in pufferfish and blue-ringed octopus. There's no known antidote, and it's not like you stopped for sushi before heading out with the boys. So actually, it might."

That got him to crack his eyes open, squinting sideways at her like she was trying to interest him in some Florida swampland. He tilted his head in disbelief. "Oh, fuck—" He corrected himself mid O, looking contrite. "Sorry … what?"

"That took some time and effort to figure out. But you're definitely in the right place - they're affiliated with the university here. The bullet fragments they pulled from you are currently undergoing further analysis."

"A fucking poisoned bullet? Not the sort from the Soviets in Afghanistan, but an actual 'poison bullet'?"

"Sounds like a cheesy spy novel, I know." She shrugged. "You can't put it past him, and it would be an effective way of taking down an opponent wearing body armor, with a hit to a non-vital area."

"Fragments — as in frangible?"

Laswell nodded. "No exit wound, they said it looked like it had been a rifle round. Sounds like one meant to penetrate and stay there."

"Ah." He smiled wryly. "And to slow things down, rather than just slot me and be done with it. Worked a bit too quickly, it seems. Joke's on him then, eh?"

"Very fast-acting. Not typical at all. That was always the point: to be long gone before the first symptoms appear. Between that and the delivery method, this is something new. He does like leaving a signature. This is Makarov we're talking about."

"A message, from Ultranationalist Russia with love," Price snorted. "He did absolutely sweet fuck-all. But I know who did." He chuckled softly. "Sent his best, did he? I'm flattered."

"He should know you're a little harder to kill than that." Laswell sighed. "Although we really do need to stop meeting like this, John."

He settled back down into his pillow, closing his eyes again for a moment. A lift of eyebrows. "Agreed."

"You'd brought your best. Your team rallied around you, kept you alive until the medevac chopper got there. What do you remember?"

"Heh, getting shot — fuckin' hurt but didn't seem that bad. Being on the ground, MacTavish and Garrick standing over me, Kyle trying to help me up. Couldn't seem to get back on my feet," he paused, frowning thoughtfully. "Or catch my breath. Tingling all over, head spinning, thought I was about to be sick. After that, nothing."

"Probably for the best." Understatement of the year, she thought. Ascending paralysis, just as described. As soon as Price had reported being hit, the team had called for aid and rushed to his position. By the time they'd reached him, he'd lost the ability to stand. Simon hadn't elaborated in his terse texts to her, but it had to have been a traumatic scene. Kyle's frantic voice over the radio had said it all. They hadn't known what was happening. Price had just suddenly collapsed, gone into respiratory arrest — and from a neurotoxin? Oh, John. She felt a twinge of nausea. He'd taken the news much better than she had. After seeing far too much of what nerve agents like VX and Sarin did to people, not to mention the more potent ones the Russians preferred, she'd needed a minute. The medics had suspected one at first. The less he remembered, the better.

His team weren't that lucky. They wouldn't forget this anytime soon, even though this story had a happy ending. It had a way of sneaking up on you, and these Regiment guys weren't the type to seek counseling. She was still thinking on how best to approach Kyle, to let him know that if he wanted to talk, she was here to listen. Maybe it wasn't her place, but she felt she owed it to John to try.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, the distraction wiping the images of gasping, drooling, twitching horror from her mind. She pulled it out gratefully. "Riley's been blowing up my phone. I hear he was the star of the show, started CPR on you while cursing you out the entire time."

The corners of his eyes crinkled. "Knows a thing or two about survival, Simon does."

"Oh?"

He shook his head. "Not my story to tell."

"Fair enough. Though I do need to tell them something, and soon. They know I'm here by now."

"Tell 'em the Old Man said to wind their necks in, and what does a bloke have to do to get some kip around here, anyway?"

Laswell raised a bemused eyebrow.

"It will sound so much better coming from you."

The smirk hiding under his mustache had her torn between fainting with relief, secret delight at seeing him in such rare form, and wanting to throttle him. "Nice."

He grew serious, reaching for her, somewhat tethered by the IV tubing taped to his arm. "Hey."

His calloused hand warmly encircled her smaller one, his tired eyes reflecting the rumpled blue of the pillowcase. "It's good to see you, Kate. Always." His brows knitted together. Incoming. "But y'look as exhausted as I feel. Like you're about ready to drop." His thumb stroked a soft trail across the back of her hand. "Checked in already?"

"Yeah, I'm a few blocks away." Not exactly, but she wasn't going to get into that now.

"Have you eaten?"

"No."

"Called your wife yet?"

"Not yet."

"Well, then call her." She felt compelled to mirror his earnest nod. "Priority one, yeah? The lads can wait a bit longer. You can tell them on the way to some food and rest, all right?"

"I think I'm supposed to be the one lecturing you about that." She rose, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

"Consider it done. Now about the lads," he attempted to push himself up and winced. "Ahh, shit. Is my mobile around here somewhere?"

A near-miss, in so many ways. The bullet wound in his side wasn't half as serious as it could've been, and overall, his doctors were cautiously optimistic. Laswell had a theory she was keeping to herself for now, one that made her very uneasy. The 141 had come under heavy fire almost immediately, they'd barely gotten him out of there. What if this had been a botched attempt at capturing him? Making them think they'd lost him — or were about to — then forcing them to leave his body behind? Whoever did this, if they'd wanted to take him alive, they had a funny way of showing it. If she didn't know better, someone had just tried to collect a bounty.

Without rapid medical intervention, his death would have been certain. However, given time, the effect had worn off. Maybe it wasn't who Price thought? The Russians did love their poisons, but they were also better at it than this. So many questions — she hoped they'd let her sleep. They'd hadn't so far, and she was running on fumes. Meanwhile, he'd just awoken from a coma. Not the best time to try gaming this out with him.

"John, stop. Lie back. I'll get it." She reached for the bedside table, finding the phone among a few other personal effects in the drawer. She handed it to him quickly, trying to discourage him from any further bright ideas.

"Cheers." He sighed. "Bollocks — should've known." He flipped the phone face down on the duvet like he'd just drawn a bad card in Blackjack.

"Not sure they'd want you plugging an adapter into any of—" She gestured at the intimidating-looking bank of power outlets, color-coded valves and dials along the wall behind his head. "—this stuff. In case you need a cable," she dug into the depths of her purse, pulling out a short USB hydra and setting it on the table. "Here. The nurses probably get this request all the time." Laswell began tapping her own phone's screen. "I'm sure if you were to employ your considerable charms, they could make it happen."

"You're too good to me. I'll get it sorted."

"I'm texting Simon that I'll be calling him soon. Meanwhile, we can get back to the whole resting thing, deal?"

"Deal. You have some jet lag to sleep off, and I'm not going anywhere." He nodded wearily at the electronics above his bed.

"We'll talk more when you're feeling better."

"Already am." His mustache twitched, his crow's feet springing to life again as he blinked up at her, his sideburns making him look like an affectionate tomcat. A comparison, she reflected, that wasn't too far off-base. More fighting than rutting, though the latter wasn't out of the question — this she knew from personal experience. Ancient history by now, which Price had proven himself to be a gentleman about. As far as she knew, there weren't any tiny lookalikes running around, either. Perish the thought, she smiled to herself. When she'd once told him he'd looked good with a regular beard, trying to encourage one, he'd insisted on keeping the outrageous Imperial muttonchops because 'it pisses off all the right people.' "See you later, then?"

"Count on it … oh!" She turned and almost collided with the nurse now entering the doorway. She had a plastic apron tied over her scrubs, and hadn't come empty-handed. It technically wasn't yet visiting hours anyway. They'd granted Laswell more than one courtesy, though up-front cash payment certainly never hurt. That hadn't been the only reason for transporting Price here; the nearby Agency apartment where she'd just parked her suitcase was his to recover in when he was ready. "Excuse me, sorry." Laswell stepped aside to let her through.

But the nurse took a step back and motioned to Kate instead. "Bitte."

Under the circumstances, Laswell had neglected to work on this particular aspect of her trip. "Danke," she said with a parting glance at Price, who was clearly in the same boat.

She nodded at the two guys she had pulling security just outside his door. Another thing she wasn't going to get into right now. They nodded back. "Ma'am."

She could hear the nurse working through her own rusty second-language issues. "Hi, ah … Mister Price?"

"Not one word, Laswell," he rumbled behind her as she walked away, trying — and failing — not to smile as she dug out her phone again to check her own battery life. She had some calls to make.

'The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep'

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost

Author's Note

So what was going on with Price in that reveal trailer? Well, sleep deprivation is a helluva drug. Picture the girl and her brain meme. If you read my stuff, you know I've figured this one out before. My sleepy nerd brain said 'poisoning' this time — which will be proven completely wrong, I'm sure.

This one sent me down some very weird rabbit trails: subsonic rifle ammo, TTX vs. organophosphates; their antidotes, synthesis, denaturing etc. Had no idea there even was such a term for a particular bullet, either. I'm no scientist, I'm just tired. Price's assessment is correct. ;-) Then I remembered that things like ugly reality and basic physics never stopped the game's *actual* writers, so why should they stop me? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Price and Laswell? Come on — you know they so totally did. Their more-than-professional but otherwise platonic relationship is one of my favorite aspects of the reboot. I just watched an interview with her actress Rya and felt super validated by her use of the word 'intimacy' regarding the pair. I adore her character, it was really fun trying her on. And yes, I'm a fan of the Extraction films, thanks for noticing! Rake and Nik have an interesting platonic relationship as well, but CoD got there first, that's all I'm sayin'.

Riley's not visible in the infamous preview scene. I used him because:
A. The rest of the gang are there
B. His 'mother hen' vibe from the Alone mission and history with Price
C. He's the one who attempted to render aid after the helo crash in MW2, which suggests his SAS specialty. There are four: signals, languages, medic and demolitions. MacTavish's is clearly stated as dems.

Why Vienna? Same as with the Strike Back TV series: because reasons, and it's actually one of the two CIA field office locations in Europe.

As usual, preemptive apologies for my lack of foreign language skills. Although it tickled me to learn that 'shitstorm' is a loanword in German.