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socially-awkward-skeleton · 2 months

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All Along the Watchtower (Chapter 9)

[Can also be read on AO3]

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!OC (3rd person POV)

Word count: 3K

Warnings: Minors DNI - no major warnings. Alcohol, swearing

Summary: Rory heads to Helios to ensnare Zorokov and capture him for questioning. Dangling herself like bait, leaving herself open to danger.

A/N: Rory Sinclair is a dual citizen (both Canada and the UK) who's been living in the UK since she was 14. She is 28 at the time of this fic, Price is 32. This series is set in 2017 before the events of the first MW game. Rory's thoughts are bold and italicized, other italics are used for emphasis

October 20, 2017 21:20 - Helios

The chill of the night bit into her flesh as she stood in line to enter the club. Black straps and poles keeping her, and the others corralled in a regimented line. Christ, even waiting to get into a club felt like a military exercise. An all too unkind reminder of the fact that her and Price had just spent an exorbitant amount of time eye fucking each other back at the safe house, breaking all proper conduct and protocol between an enlisted soldier and an officer completely. In the moment, it felt like the most natural thing to do, led by old feelings and anything but sense. But like a bucket of cold water being splashed upon her, she had sobered up and now faced the dawning realization that she was speeding towards another awkward encounter and conversation with the captain causing her knees to wobble gently and her stomach to twist.

A shiver coursed through her, the coat she wore doing little to hold back the wind that nipped at the swaths of exposed flesh underneath, the silky material of her dress thin enough to let the air blow right through to her bones. Thinking back on Price's reaction to her, and on what she had volunteered to do as part of the mission caused Rory’s breathing to become a little more strained, the stress of the situation not lost on her. What she’d give for a cigarette right about now. Just a hint of nicotine to stave off the lingering doubt that hung around her neck. That little thunder that clouded her mind and shook like metal sheeting against her temples. Her wind bitten knuckles clenched tighter as she squeezed her clutch bag in her hand. Her eyes kept on the front of the line as the queue slowly started to filter forward towards the very large, burly bouncer at the front doors. Her stomach cramping ever so slightly more at the thought of having to flirt with a bastard like Zorokov. Maybe she could just picture Price instead…

“ How are we doin’, Sinclair? ” Andrew’s voice rang as clear as a bell in her ear through the nearly imperceptible earpiece hidden by her hair, and she was pulled from her wandering thoughts. Quick to turn away from the sight of the bouncer, Rory hid the fact she was muttering under her breath, “Freezing my arse off. I’ll be lucky if my lips aren’t blue by the time I get to Zorokov.” Her whispers were a quiet hiss as she pulled her coat a little tighter to her body, despite the draft blowing up it.

“ The things we suffer through for our jobs, eh? ” Andrew's tone was jovial, enjoying her being stuck like this a little too much. The arsehole . “Shut it, you,” Rory replied. “You’ve no right to say that to me from the comfort of a warm vehicle.”

“ Only a matter of time till you're inside, Sergeant. Thought you went through SAS survival training?” Price's low chuckle was pleasing in her ear, she didn't even mind the fact that he was clearly ribbing her.

“You're going to tease me too, eh?” She cracked a grin as another shiver wracked her.

“ You can handle it, sweetheart .”

Her brows lifted. That was new. A pet name while they were supposed to be working…a pet name at all really beyond saying ‘good girl’ seemed even more out of place. She said nothing about it and instead smiled to herself, a comforting warmth filling her cheeks despite the cold already turning them pink. “I can, doesn’t mean I have to like it, sir. ”

The queue shuffled forward, and she was now just a few heads away from entering the building, the thumping music steadily growing louder. The beating electronic music matched the rhythm of her heart as it began to increase. Finally reaching the front rope, the bouncer gave her the nod of approval to enter, and she was hit by the flurry of lights and sounds that filled the large, darkened, industrial designed nightclub. Black leather furniture, chrome and neon – she felt like she was walking into a set from Blade Runner. Her first stop was the coat check, sliding the long coat off her arms and handing it to the girl behind the counter, she moved further in and the heat of the bodies crowded in together hit her like a wave. Strobe lights flashed, the music blared, and she did her best to scan the area looking out for the target. Snaking her way through the crowd towards the bar, she waved her hand to get the attention of one of the bartenders as she stood at the counter. It had been some time since she had done this sort of thing, often opting for an actual bar rather than clubs even in her youth. She still had one trick up her sleeve however, putting two fingers in her mouth she whistled over one of the bartenders and finally was served.

“могу я получить виски?” <Russian: Can I get a scotch?>

She was thankful Price taught her enough Russian to at least allow her to order her drink of choice. A little dutch courage to keep herself focused, to keep her calm. As she waited, she tried to simulate being relaxed as possible, not looking around too much to make her appear suspicious but keeping her wits about her to stay on the lookout for trouble.

“ Any sign of him, Sergeant? ” Price’s rumbling timbre vibrated through her.

“Not visual yet, but my eyes are peeled.”

Glancing over her shoulder, she looked back at the stairs that led to the VIP section. It was her goal to get up there with Zorokov and get him alone for the takedown. She had memorized the layout of this place from the plans that Laswell had dug up and knew where every security camera was placed and every possible exit, anything to give her the upper hand in this meeting as she dangled herself like a mouse on a string. At this point, his scheduled appointments had already begun, and it was just a matter of time before he would come down and make his presence known – she just had to try and win his attention.

A few moments passed and the tumbler glass of scotch was slid along the bar on a black paper napkin and placed in front of her by the bartender. Quick to pick up the glass, she sipped on the amber liquid, letting its warmth fill her from the inside out. Hints of sherry from the oak barrels it was aged in hit her tongue first, then the spicy notes of black pepper and the sweetness of vanilla. Just one drink of this could put her at ease. She swirled the liquid around and around, the weight of the sloshing scotch seeming to relax her as she waited for her first sight of Zorokov. Turning to rest her elbows back on the bar, arching her back just a little so her chest pressed forward, she kept an eye on as much as she could.

It didn’t take long before the first suitor came to her side, his eyes dragging over her like she was a buffet table and he was famished. Making a comment to her in Russian, she was quite sure after she responded in what was supposed to be a polite decline of his advances that the captain had taught her something rather the opposite, especially as the man stormed off with more choice words for her in Russian.

“Fucking hell, what did you teach me to say, Price?” she whispered harshly.

A quiet snicker came through her earpiece, broken by his husky voice, “ Never you mind, just keep saying it and you shouldn’t get any cling ons. Can’t have you getting distracted. ”

“Bastard,” she muttered under her breath.

“ I heard that .”

Rory chuckled to herself and took another sip of her drink, scanning the area, her eyes flicking back up towards the VIP area searching for a hint of that slicked blonde hair she had seen before, but all remained quiet. Taking a deep breath, she gave her neck a little stretch from side to side, trying to lean into the patience she had honed as a sniper. After her SSC training was completed, she was no longer pushed into the action of the front lines and instead she had to learn the pace that required her to be forced to camp out for hours, sometimes days at a time, in a nest to get the shot she needed. This was no different. The target was more important than her comfort, that was something she had quickly discovered in her time as a soldier, and despite the fact that she was using herself as bait, this was still more attractive an idea than having to sit in the burning hot heat, sweat dripping down her arse crack or in puddles of murky standing water being bitten by God knows what. This – for all intents and purposes – was easy.

Time passed, she ordered a second drink, several more men showed interest in her and she blew them off the same way Price had taught her. It was practically clockwork now. At least she knew the outfit was working for her. It was just a matter of time for the big man himself to come down the stairs, and just like that – speak of the devil – the door to VIP access opened and Zorokov in his trim, black sharkskin suit stepped out still chatting away with his legion of “colleagues”.

Her eyes narrowed for just a moment, that warrior’s instinct in her revealing itself. “Head’s up, got eyes on the target now. He’s just stepped out from his meeting.”

“ Keep on him, Sergeant .”

“Copy.”

Zorokov moved like he was king of the castle. Untouchable . Pulling on the fronts of his suit jacket, buttoning it up as he slithered his way past the patrons and made his way to the bar.

“He’s headed in my direction now.”

“ Just keep it together, yeah? ”

She took a deep breath and took a quick swig of her drink. Now or never. As the oligarch drew near, she did her best to draw his attention, focusing on the way she posed while maintaining a relaxed aura about her, the last thing she needed was him figuring out this was a sting. His dark eyes landed on her, and she pretended not to notice him, glancing away – a simple lure to pull him in. Just like a fisher’s fly in the water, she’d snare the big fish in the little pond. His stare roamed over her as she nonchalantly continued to work on her drink and he was quick to pull up a spot beside her at the bar, his arm brushing against hers. Something like regret already began coiling in her gut, everything about the presence of this man was oily and slimy to her, like she could taste his venom in the air around him.

“Хотите еще?” <Russian: Would you like another?>

She glanced over sideways towards him, putting on her softest, most innocent smile. Her eyes went wide as she batted her lashes up at him. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m a tourist. I don’t speak a lick of Russian. Or at least nothing beyond yes, no, and hello.”

“ God, you’re good at this ,” Andrew whispered in her ear.

“Quite alright.” Zorokov’s smile widened like a snake about to strike. “Lovely accent by the way.”

She could already picture Price either smugly smirking or growling over that reaction, it was what he had expected after all, but she wasn’t quite so sure he would actually enjoy the fact that his prediction was correct. “Thank you.” She faked the blush to her cheeks as she smiled by thinking about the Captain’s reaction to her earlier, his wandering eyes, that subtle bite to the inside of his lower lip.

“You sound much too good for a place like this.” Zorokov’s dark chuckle was menacing despite this being his attempt to flirt with her.

“Do I?” Her voice was sultry and smooth as she asked the question, looking up at the target with large doe eyes.

“Like a proper Englishwoman. Good manners, good upbringing. Very attractive.” He leaned in towards her, stepping just a little too far into her personal space, his nostrils flaring as he breathed in her perfume. “You said you were a tourist, yes? What brings you to the motherland?”

“Traveling across Europe. I’ve already been to France and Spain, seen Germany and the Netherlands. Figured it was time to see the Big. Red. Bear .” She smirked, making sure to emphasize each word.

“And have you enjoyed your stay so far?”

A slow smile creeped across her lips. “It has certainly had its high points.”

“Has it?” Zorokov leaned in even closer, his gaze lowering down the neckline of her dress. “Perhaps I can make it even better for you?”

Her brows lifted, eyes widening, remaining coy. “Oh?”

Nodding his head in the direction of the upstairs VIP area, he gave her a knowing grin. “I might be able to give you reason to extend your stay.”

Rory hummed, sipping on her drink. Swallowing her scotch, she smiled and licked the few drops off her lower lip. “You can certainly try.”

He held out his hand in the direction of the stairs, a clear invitation to lead the way and she took a deep breath, whispering as she moved out of Zorokov’s sights should he try to lip read, “Heading into the VIP area now.”

“ Copy. Break a leg ,” Andrew replied.

Each step up the stairs sent a shiver down her back; she was marching right into the viper’s nest. Get him alone. Get close. Place the bug on him. And then wait for the cavalry to arrive to bring him in for questioning. It was simple enough, foolproof even. But that churning in her gut wouldn’t stop. The heightened awareness, battle readiness, caused every little nerve in her to want to flinch, feeling like she had eyes growing on the back of her head.

Upon reaching the door to the upper floor, Zorokov moved up behind her, placing his hand on the small of her back, and Rory had to hold back the bile that rose up her throat. Slipping a card from his pants pocket, he placed it to the security panel and it beeped allowing them access. The door opened wide, and the upstairs looked like something out of a Bond villain’s penthouse. All black marble polished to perfection and gold filigree, Roman columns and furniture that was far more plush than what was on the floor below. This was a room designed for the powerful to play and Rory’s gut wrenched at the thought of the things that might have happened up here before.

He held out his hand, directing her in, and she stepped inside, her heels clicking on the marble floor. The faint chemical, clinical scent of bleach was in the air. Freshly cleaned . She had no interest in wanting to know why. Keeping her breathing controlled, she crossed the room to sit in one of the tufted leather couches, crossing her legs and stretching her arms out along the back, remaining the picture of grace, confidence and elegance – exactly the woman Igor Zorokov expected her to be. Rory’s eyes scanned the room, but just as had been in the plans, there was no sight of security measures in here. No cameras whatsoever. That didn’t help settle the growing pit in her gut at all. As the door shut behind him, the blond man looked at her as if she were prey. Locked in, with nowhere to go, her pupils dilated with aggression but to a man like Zorokov it would only mean the opposite.

The Russian moved closer, striding towards her as he took a seat on the opposite side of the couch, the leather giving way to his weight. His fingers brushed over hers as his hand traveled over her wrist and up the length of her forearm resting against the back of the couch.

“You are a very lovely woman.”

“You’re a charming man. I’m sure you’ve had your fair share,” she said, turning to tuck herself into the corner and face him.

“I have only the most expensive taste.”

“That’s quite the compliment.”

“It is,” he hummed.

He slid over towards her on the couch, sitting closer, leaning in towards her. Forcing herself to drag her eyes up to meet his, Rory looked up at him through a fan of dark lashes. His dark stare flicking from her chest to her lips, not bothering to meet her eyes at all. She found herself clenching her jaw, the sickening twist in her abdomen squeezing tighter. He was going to try and kiss her…she could feel it coming. A shuddering breath slipped from her, and she knew he’d read into it exactly the way he wanted to. Interest. Attraction. Arousal. The exact opposite of the disgust that grew inside her.

Leaning further towards her, rubbing his hands along the curve of her neck, following it along as it met her shoulders, he tilted his head so his lips were just a hair away from her ear, breathing heavily into the earpiece that sat hidden below her dark brown tresses, whispering through gritted teeth in a sharp hiss, “Just how stupid do you think I am?”

Rory’s eyes widened, her breath hitching. Her body reflexively sent itself into survival mode, every muscle tensing, knowing it was time to fight. She slowly opened her clutch, not wanting to attract his attention as she carefully slipped her fingers into the opening and slid them into the grips of her brass knuckles.

“Didn’t think I’d recognize you?”

Zorokov’s smile widened like a hungry animal, he had her exactly where he wanted her. Believing her cornered. Trapped. Just another woman in a cage for him. He might have recognized her, but he didn’t know just how savage she could be. Her will to live was stronger than the violence he most assuredly aimed to use against her. In that moment Price’s words echoed in her head: The world needs more wolves in it, Rory. Maybe it's about time you took that lambskin off.

That time was now.

#call of duty #fan fiction #john price #captain price #john price x oc #oc: rory sinclair #skelly writes #all along the watchtower #chapter 9

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