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yvettepenned · 1 year

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Emergency Contact Details [Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish - Call of Duty Modern Warfare 2]

Masterpost | Request Info | Coming Soon!

Dead Dove Don’t Eat

R18+ | high impact assault, assault with a knife, attempted sexual assault, un-consenting drug use

Angst | platonic!141/female!reader, father/daughter bond for Price/reader

(I’ll go back to my dilf thirsting over Price after this lmao), mainly character description and exploration practice. experimenting with a new set out for stuff, and unsure if this will have a pt.2 about how the reader copes after this point (but probably because I liked writing this, gets the trauma out), if you’re interested please ask lol. John for price and Johnny for soap. Betan’t, we die like men

9749 words

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You weren’t really in the mood for a date, you hadn’t been for a while. Your mother, however, was very in the mood for you to go on a date. She had called a few weeks ago, telling you that you need to get close to making grandbabies, she wasn’t getting any younger y’know.

You were only twenty-five but the jeering still got to you. It wouldn’t usually have, had your friends also not added to the ‘you need to get laid’ train. Despite feeling like there was perma-dirt in your skin, you dolled up as best you could.

Forcing yourself to be excited for the date proved easier than you’d care to admit. A pair of very high heels and a new dress sat on your bed, the makeup on your vanity sticking out into your peripheral.

You were out of practice dating-wise, having let your late teens and early twenties be consumed by work. You supposed that’s what this date with Jeremy in Armoury was for. A practice run before you actually try to find someone you might be into. You briefly felt bad for how you were treating him (like a practice run), but you reminded yourself you may actually get interested in him, and you had told him not to expect anything concrete.

Jeremy had asked you out before, twice to be exact, (the times being two years apart, so nothing too coercive), you had shot him down kindly both times and he seemed to take the hint but you had caught up with him before your last mission and had agreed to the date. He’d suggest the Duke of Wales pub, and you couldn’t find anything to object to it. Other than maybe it was too close to his house, but you neglected to bring it up in favour of actually going on a date with someone.

As you slipped into your outfit, you felt the silkiness of the dress hug your curves. The feeling felt familiar yet foreign and you couldn’t ignore the feeling of ‘wow I look good out of army fatigues’ popping up.

It had been a while since you’d worn a dress for a date, let alone had a date to dress up for. Your friend had decided that for this occasion you just had to have a new dress, and she was ecstatic about the dress you’d both found.

The dress was a black dress with small white roses on it. It clung desperately to your breasts, cinching your waist and flaring out towards the bottom. You paired the dress with some black heels and your dark blue denim jacket, which you felt confident in. There was a small blip of excitement accompanied by nervousness passing through you. It was time for makeup.

Taking a seat at your vanity, you moved onto your makeup, dabbing on various products as you went through your routine. Despite the lack of recent practice in dressing up, your makeup routine flowed perfectly, memory pulling at your muscles to pull together the look. You put red lipstick on, smacking your lips together like you’d done a million times before.

A smile pulled onto your face as you stood and saw yourself completely in your vanity mirror. You looked good, and you finally felt it too.

You grabbed your bag and jacket as you headed out the door of your room, bee-lining for the office kitchenette where the rest of your coworkers would undoubtedly be finishing up their piles of paperwork. You thanked your touch typing practice for making you able to finish so early.

With a slight hop in your step, you knocked on the door frame of the office’s kitchenette, grabbing Soap’s attention from his paperwork, Gaz looking up moments after. You spoke quickly, “I’m off, should be back tonight though.”

“Look at you all dressed up, lass,” Johnny said with a low whistle, “Go on, give us a twirl.”

You blushed as you walked into the room and twirled, letting Soap and Gaz see the curve of the dress as it fit over you, receiving cheers of appraisal in response.

Ghost hadn’t looked up at you and you were silently thankful. You were nervous about this date already, you didn’t need Ghost’s intimidating eyes making you uncomfortable in a rare moment of confidence.

You became more conscious of your look as you shifted your feet, hearing the unfamiliar click of heels as you spared a glance at your watch. It ticked over to 8:01pm, 20:01 hrs your brain reminded you, and you had 19 minutes to get to this date, just enough time to arrive early and check out your surroundings. You gave a mock salute and began to turn to walk out the door, catching Ghost’s eyes and his small nod before continuing on your way. Soap’s whistle caught you before you left the threshold and you turned back to face him. He threw you his knife.

It was sleek and cold against your palm, its floral detailing shiny. It retracted with a flip switch, so it would fit in your purse. It wasn’t his military issue knife, but you’d seen him with it on missions plenty of times. You shot him a confused look. “Just ‘n case, Dais’, but don’t have too much fun,” Soap said, sending you a wink and flipping his page over.

“Yea, don’t do anything Soap would do,” Gaz let out with a chuckle. Soap sent him an offended look as a laugh was pulled out of you and Ghost.

“Not funnae,” you heard Soap's say, grabbing another giggle out of you. Slipping the knife into your purse, you gave Soap a mock salute and turned on your heel and walked out.

Your nerves about dates often managed to get the better of you, often making you too scared to go out. But a small buzz of excitement flew through you, mixing in with anticipation and a cocktail of nerves. You let out a breath you didn’t remember holding and strengthened your stride, determined to make this date work.

The Duke of Wales pub sat comfortably in its position. It was an unassuming pub, somewhere you didn’t feel would make you so uncomfortable you’d have to leave immediately.

You made your way into the pub and walked up to the bar, ordering your drink. Tapping your toe against the floor, you checked the time, 20:26, and let the anticipation kill you slowly as you looked around for Jeremy. He was meant to arrive in four minutes, but you still looked around nonetheless.

You momentarily pull up your work front, letting yourself scope out the place, the major exits and pick up on anyone you could deem a threat. Your eyes picked up Jeremy at a two-person table near the door of the pub, but off to the side enough to avoid major foot traffic. He was early and smoothing his shirt out, looking at you, putting away his phone. You softened your face, letting your work front fall and you waved slightly to him as his eyes devoured the sight of you in a dress before his eyes caught yours. You picked up your drink and moved over to him.

The Duke of Wales was what is considered a smaller building. It felt smaller inside, though the exposed brick and wood accents made the pub feel cosy without feeling suffocating. It was only a little crowded, it being later than usual for a date meant that most people were settled and were watching the soccer or chatting.

You passed a few punters on your way, holding your drink akin to a grenade, gently and close to your chest, as you moved through the room so as not to spill anything. It almost felt like you hadn’t left the warzone you’d been in just 12 hours prior, but you quickly snapped out of it.

“Hey, sorry I took a minute to find you, had a last minute thing this morning and the paperwork was a nightmare,” you said as you placed your drink down, letting out a small laugh and taking your seat opposite him.

He looked mildly relieved you’d shown up, “‘Sno worries, darl.”

There was a look of annoyance tugging at his face, but you chose to ignore it, picking up the menu and beginning to read through as he did the same.

“Hey, (y/n), I’m really glad you said yes to this date, I have a feeling you’ll fall for me,” Jeremy said, his hand reaching over to hold over your fist. His smile seemed half genuine and half something else. You didn’t have a moment more to ponder the look before he was receding his hand and re-reading through his own menu.

The comment left you feeling weird. It wasn’t necessarily a creepy thing to say, but it certainly wasn’t something you had expected to hear. You let yourself give another once over of Jeremy before turning back to your menu.

He had on a white button up shirt and some black slacks. There was a small amount of brown shoe grease on the hem of his pants, right above his tan shoes. His hair was neatly combed over, you could almost see the indents of the teeth of the comb in his hair. He was put together and you couldn’t deny that he looked good. Not as good as you would have liked, but it was only a first date, he could impress upon you some other time.

After scouring the menu, you decided on your feed, and placed your menu down, Jeremy instantly placing his down as well. After deciding on both of your meals, you got out your purse, standing up and getting the money for your food.

You saw in your peripheral that Jeremy got very upset, his face angry and contorted. He pushed your hands away from your purse.

“I’ll get it darl’, you sit,” he said, “you want another drink?”

You spared a glance as your half finished drink before declining. He nodded and walked off, returning minutes later with the disc, and another drink for you.

“Thanks for the drink but I’m a slow drinker so I don’t think I’ll get through this,” you said as he placed another drink in front of you.

“Oh well, just in case,” he smiled.

The two of you slipped into conversation, it was slightly awkward because you’d never really talked properly before but the awkwardness lessened as the two of you talked.

When the disc buzzed, you both stood. He placed a hand on yours, pushing gently. “Sit down, (y/n), I’ll grab them.” You sat back down, flashing him a smile with a small ‘thanks’ as he wandered over to the food bar.

An intrusive thought wedged itself into your brain: what if he’s going to roofy you? He wouldn’t. Surely not. If he was going to, wouldn't it have been your drink? You hadn’t even touched the drink he had got you, too consumed in slowly sipping on your own, he couldn’t have roofied that. And you two worked together, he could be reprimanded to high heaven and even dishonourably discharged.

You scolded yourself for thinking about it. You’d clearly spend too much time working in such a dangerous and unforgiving part of the world, and that’s why your mind had concocted a thought like that.

Your mother’s words rung in your ear ‘Maybe if you step away from seeing bad men all the bloody time, you’d find the good ones’. It was something she had said sternly after your fortnightly phone call, and it had made you self-conscious about your view of men and your (admittedly poor) previous dating choices. You had a small shudder just thinking about your high-school ex’s.

You, of course, had good male friends in the job (‘the good ones’ as your mother called them), and if you thought about it long enough you could consider one that you would like, but you always brushed it off. Who would want to date an immediate co-worker? Talk about keeping it in the workplace.

Besides, you were on a date already, no matter what you were secretly worried he might do. You forced the thoughts to move on as you saw Jeremy walking back towards you, food plate in hand.

Over dinner conversation continued with small talk. Jeremy kept asking about certain missions, with you shooting all mentions of work down, mentioning that ‘shop talk’ wasn’t the best for a date. You eventually got onto normal date conversation and it seemed to be going really well.

He only made you slightly uncomfortable but otherwise conversation was pleasant, and in some small bubbles of talk, he was witty.

Towards the end of the meal, you felt an uncomfortable heat stir under your skin. It made it slightly harder to converse with Jeremy.

You thought back to the past couple of days, and the cold that Gaz had brought back from seeing his parents. You were slightly annoyed that Gaz had shared his bloody cold. There was a mild relief that you were going to be able to have another bath, but you let yourself concentrate on the mild annoyance.

Jeremy pulled you out of your mind with his hand that was now on top of yours, it was more up your arm this time though and you didn’t know if you liked or hated his touch.

“You alright?” He asked.

“Yea, I just think I’ve got one of my work-mate’s colds,” you said with a laugh, your skin slowly getting clammy.

You felt Jeremy squeeze your hand tighter in his own for a moment before letting go and placing the back of his hand against your forehead.

“You feel a bit hot, if you want me to walk you home I can,” He said, smiling as he removed his hand and ate another fork-full of food.

“Aha, I took a cab here, so I’ll call another one,” you said, reaching for your phone.

Jeremy’s hand flew to yours and held your hand down, “Let’s spend a little more time together and I’ll get you a cab.”

You nodded, not wanting to disappoint, and with the slight fun you were having with him, you

could put up with the starting symptoms of a cold.

It was only twenty minutes later, dinner fully finished and engaging in chat, that you suddenly felt a million times worse. The previous ‘cosy’ nature of the pub suddenly became suffocating, as if everyone around you had crammed the pub full, despite it being more sparse than when you had entered.

The uncomfortable heat from before, when you thought it was only a cold had become unbearable. A burning sensation flooded your nerves, buzzing violently through you, making your hands begin to shake. The hair on the back of your neck stood on end, pushing through the clammy sweat being produced there. How could a fever come on this fast? Had Gaz passed on some weird superbug?

You were half tempted to text the ‘SGTs of amazingness’ (your sargents only group chat) to complain to Gaz but a wave of nausea had you pausing.

“Hey, I’m starting to feel really sick, I’ve had an amazing time but I really need to go sleep this off,” you said, fanning yourself with your purse.

“S’alright darl, I’ll get you a cab,” Jeremy said as you both stood. You felt your nausea increase as you stumbled in place. Your head rushed as you stood straight, black spots appearing on your vision as your eyes wandered dowsily over Jeremy. He looked weirdly happy, a smirk marking his features as he reached his hand out to grab your arms.

His grip was painful against your arm as he held you in place. You moved your feet nervously, testing out your weight bearing intuition. Your heels felt more slippery than normal and you wondered if you had sweat into them as well as you solidified your stance.

“C’mon, darl, let's take you home,” he said, smirk deepening.

You pushed his hand off, freeing yourself, the act taking more effort than you liked, “Oh, I… um… I think I’ll just call a… cab.”

“I’ll call you one,” he said, trying to push you back into your seat.

You pushed yourself back into position, stumbling slightly at the push. Alarm bells started going off, he wasn’t safe. You were clearly sick and you needed to go home. You contemplated calling one of the boys to help you, but that would have made them sick as well, so you decided against it.

“I’ll call one, thanks for the date, when I’m not sick we can meet up again,” you said with a small smile, walking wobbly towards the door. Bursting out of the door and into the cool night you felt a breeze brush over you and the unbearable heat lift slightly. You grabbed your phone out, everything around you drowning as you moved around the screen to open the phone app.

Your mind was becoming confused as a drowsy feeling set in place. You walked sluggishly down the street, but stopped momentarily to get your bearings. It was difficult to navigate the street and your phone in your state and you kept pressing the wrong buttons accidentally.

You felt someone bump past you, pushing you and you fell. You couldn’t see anything around you anymore, it was too dark, your eyes were closed. You succumbed to the drowsy overtaking your body.

You woke in an alley, drowsy and barely awake. The cobblestone of the alleyway dug into your skin, cold and damp soaking into your clothes, your brain slowed with the cold. The smell of rubbish clung around the ground, thick and fog-like in its permeance. It invaded your senses, making you nauseous as you tried to get your bearings.

You felt like you’d shoved your brain in a tub of molasses - inescapable heavy thickness surrounded your brain, blocking signals. Through the fog, you felt someone’s hands on the back of your calves, trying to separate your legs.

You were on your front and your felt dirt smeared on your face. You willed your legs to close, and you managed, barely. But whoever was at the back of you ripped your legs open wider, their hold bruising your legs as they constricted their hands on your legs.

You were a highly specialised and trained operative with years of hand-to-hand combat experience. What had happened to make you this weak? This pathetic? This useless?

Guilty thoughts combined with raw fear as blurry thoughts circled aimlessly in your head, half finished concoctions of thoughts hitting half baked ideas at escape.

You gave a small kick, and it seems you found purchase as the person behind you let out a grunt. They soon grabbed your foot, yanking you back further into them, their nails scraping down your body and leaving thin scratches in their wake.

You heard ripping sounds, but they sounded far away. You moved your hands lethargically, suddenly feeling the phone weigh heavy in your hand in front of your face, when had you retrieved your phone from your purse? You fumbled through your contacts. What were you doing again?

The person behind you began to mess with your legs again, feeling you up, getting closer and closer to where you didn’t want them to be. They had their hands at the back of your knees, using the joint to move your legs around and the fear seemed to kick your brain into a higher gear. You were still slow but the adrenaline provided a slight bit more clarity.

You tapped on your phone as much as you could, and without thinking you called your captain, he’d know what to do surely, he’d save you.

You brought the phone closer to your face, trying to conceal your attempt at saving yourself and pressed dial. It rang out in what felt like minutes but you were sure that was only a matter of seconds. He must be busy. The molasses feeling strengthened tenfold, smothering you as you let go of your phone, it clattering to the ground.

You felt yourself whimper in fear, this was it. You were done. You were going to be abused in an alley and you had no way of escape. You didn’t even know if it was your date doing this to you, but you wished that you had ignored your mum and friends. You felt hot tears against your face, you didn’t know when you’d started crying.

You heard more ripping sounds before you felt hands pushing your thighs apart. You didn’t know if you were talking or mumbling, but you could hear murmurs of your voice circling in your ears.

Your purse appeared in your peripheral, it was in your other hand. The knife glinted dangerously in the low light. It could be your only chance at actually making it out of this with less damage.

Your hands moved dumbly and you wondered if your lack of motor control was similar to when you were a toddler.

Grabbing the knife you felt a chill run through you. A familiar feeling of adrenaline surged inside you again. It was higher this time and you felt somewhat normal.

You felt normal with a blade in your hand, ready to take the life of some scumbag. You hoped that your mum never heard that thought. The horror she would have would have, despite whatever the person had done to deserve it, instilled fresh disgust in your bones.

You didn’t have time to think about it any longer as you were yanked across the ground and turned over violently to let you see who was attacking you: Jeremy. It was your date that had preyed on you. He had slipped something to you, it must have been in your food. Your thoughts were cut off by a punch. It sent your head flying to the side, mind reeling in a pool of delirium as your thoughts tangled themselves up. A wave of nausea began rising through you.

You tried as best you could to hide the knife in your palm, finger on the flip switch, taking more hits. You were waiting for your best opportunity, the only one you would have the strength for. He pulled you up by your collar to give you one last slap before dropping you unceremoniously onto the ground. You flipped the blade out as hot spit hit you in the face.

His hands found their way around your neck, constricting as the pressure began to build up in your neck, adrenaline going haywire inside your brain. You felt yourself get even more light headed, as if that was possible. You flailed around, desperately trying to hit him through the invisible weights the roofy tied your arms down with. Another shot of adrenaline pulsed through you, the weights lifting slightly, and thanks to your training, you landed one good hit against him and it was just enough to knock him off balance.

You didn’t waste any time as your head began to return to normal. Pushing yourself up, you sliced the knife through the air. You felt the weight return to your arms as the knife made its purchase.

Warm, sticky blood spilled onto you, the crimson liquid permeating the air with the pungent scent of iron and staining you as you lay on the ground. Looking up, Jeremy’s face was pained, and his mouth open. You could barely hear over the thrashing of the blood in your ears but you assumed he had screamed. Most do when stabbed.

You noticed Soap’s knife as it sat in Jeremy’s leg, right in the meaty part and near a large artery. Good on you. Your hand was there too, attached to the knife. You willed yourself to twist the knife, but the fight was leaving your body quicker than you could formulate another plan. With the last of your adrenaline-induced strength you clenched the handle and pulled, extracting the knife.

Jeremy punched you one last time before moving to put pressure on his leg. The punch knocked you back down, your head hitting the stone of the alleyway and your hand hitting your phone, hearing three cracks in succession. You felt blood trickle down the back of your head but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

Exhaustion got the better of you, from your injury or the roofies you couldn’t tell but you slumped against the ground, half propped up by the wall of the pub. Watching through lidded eyes as Jeremy stumbled out of the alleyway, desperately pushing on his leg, you gave a slurred smile, succumbing to the welcome of unconsciousness.

–

John Price had moved away from the pile of paperwork at his desk to reheat his tea, it had long gone cold. The hours had passed of John diligently trudging through with the mountain of papers, amending details and signing where needed, and he still wasn’t finished. In times like this, the job aged him like no other, turning him into any other corporate junkie. However, a fresh and hot tea always managed to lift his spirits in the bleak cold of paperwork.

As he walked down the hallway towards the small kitchenette that sat in the offices, he pulled out his phone, hoping to have a go at a crossword app he had started days prior. He noticed that the time on his phone had ticked over to 10pm.

Entering the kitchenette, John passed Soap and Gaz who sat at the table in the room, filling out their own paperwork with takeout containers beside them. Their now also cold mugs of tea sat beside them in wait. Ghost’s paperwork sat at the open chair, he was nowhere to be seen.

“Ghost?” John asked, and he heard a hoarse ‘bathroom’ in response.

“If you’re putting the kettle on, can I ‘ave a cup, sir,” Soap asked, the sound of paper flipping followed his voice. John grunted an affirmative response and began filling the kettle up with water, placing it on the stove shortly after.

His excitement for his crossword was short-lived. He looked at the notification centre on his phone, there was only a missed call from you with an accompanying voicemail.

“Where’s (y/n)?” John asked, getting out new mugs and new tea bags and setting them out.

“Lass’s got ‘erself a date,” Soap said with a chuckle, scribbling onto the page.

John smiled a bit, happy that however arduous your regular work was, you still managed to relax. It was something he hoped to achieve with his upcoming fishing trip.

He decided briefly that you were just calling him to tell him you wouldn’t be back until tomorrow morning, but he would still listen to the voicemail. He’d been in this job so long that worrying at mundane things always snuck up on him, getting in the way of thinking of things innocently. He lifted the phone up to his ear, his voicemail service tinkling against his ear drum.

“Call received from Sgt. (y/n) (l/n) at 21:19,” the voice said, its robotic charm butchering your name in the process.

“... sir? Hmm.. hellll.. -p…” he heard your voice over the line, it was quieter than usual, he almost couldn’t hear, but your voice was gritty, pained.

John felt his blood run cold, it felt like his heart was slowing down. His hand tensed around the phone as he strode away from the kettle, placing his other hand up against his free ear, desperate to hear anything else that would prove that this was fake and not someone hurting you. You’d only been with the task force a year, but you’d settled in nicely to the found family, and the idea of anyone hurting one of their own hurt John deeply.

“mmm...think.. roofi… duke.. wales.. pric… e…he-helllp..” Your whimpers of pain floated down the line, striking deep into his heart. You sounded like you’d been fought, or wounded. He knew you were competent in a fight, but the possibility of roofies left you vulnerable. Any and all wounds inflicted on you from then could cause any number of issues.

He heard another whimper of pain before he heard shuffling. He heard dragging and hits of skin on skin and a sickening crack. Something broke.

His body tensed, the hair on the back of his neck standing at attention as his fight response took over his whole body. Who would hurt you? Was it whoever you had gone on a date with? Or was it some stranger? Or could it be one of their enemies, someone coming for revenge? John didn’t know which possibility hurt him more, but he was growing more furious as the voicemail continued.

His whole body jittered waiting for more sounds to cross the line. He heard hushed mumbled, interrupted by your pain filled whimpers and the sound of someone spitting.

A scream echoed in his ear. Pulling the phone away from his ear in a jerked motion, he let the scream ring out before placing the phone back to his ear. The line went dead.

He looked around at his teammates, just noticing that Ghost must have wandered in at some point in the voicemail. John’s stare was dangerous and his face solemn.

Soap was the first to speak, he had been on his feet the second the scream had ricocheted around the room, “What’s wrong?”. Gaz looked up towards John, his brows pulled together in worry, his paperwork, similar to Soap’s, sitting abandoned as Gaz’s hands gripped the arms of the seat.

Ghost looked the least bothered, while still looking pissed, and took the kettle off the stove as it began to whistle, turning the burner off as well.

“Where did she go on the date?” John said.

Soap and Gaz shared a worried look, Gaz spoke up, “Dunno, sir.”

“Something’s wrong with her,” he said, his voice strong, despite the fear metastasizing to his heart, “She said something about the Duke of Wales, I can barely hear her. I think she mentioned roofies.”

John watched as the information absorbed into each member of his team, each man meeting him with two main emotions; anger and fear. They were melded in a tango, fiery and dangerous, going off like bombs behind each man’s resolve.

They sat in painful silence as John replayed the voicemail, placing it on speaker and turning up the volume as high as it would go.

“Call received from Sgt. (y/n) (l/n) at 21:19, ... sir? Hmm.. hellll.. -p…mmm…think.. roofi… duke.. wales.. pric… e…he-helllp..” they heard the same shuffling sounds, the same whimpers, the punching sound with the crack. Your whimper and the spitting sound followed, the last thing they heard before the sound cut out was the loud scream. His mind flicked up to the time on his screen to the time: 22:05.

It had been almost an hour. An hour where anything could have happened to you. He dared not think of the possibilities, knowing that any of them could have sent him into a downward spiral and that wouldn’t have helped you any.

There was a shuffling of feet from everyone in the room, all standing on guard, defensive and scared. If they were dogs, the collective drool from their bared teeth would have drowned you, and they were just about ready to bite, emotions going haywire behind the mask of their faces. Literal mask in Ghost’s case.

They had only but a moment to think about the message again before an unknown number flashed across John’s phone, the sharp cry of the phone unignorable.

John scrambled to pick it up, swiping the answer button on the phone and replacing the phone on speaker. The ‘no-caller ID’ flashed through his mind as someone who could be blocking their phone number to extort the 141. His mind ran over multiple more worst-case scenarios before he heard a voice crackle over the line, dainty and feminine, “Hello?”. It wasn’t yours but that type of voice was unexpected.

“Who is this?” He demanded, on alert and furious.

“Oh, I’m sorry, my name is Suzanna, I am a registered nurse at Charing Cross Hospital, am I speaking with a John Price?” Her voice filled the space around the room, filling the tension where it emanated from the group. Each man was beginning to lessen the daggers being thrown from their eyes, this didn’t sound like the voice of a hardened criminal, or someone of unspeakable evil.

“Yes.”

“Okay, good. You’re the emergency contact detail for a Miss (y/n) (l/n), this call is concerning her. She has come into Accident and Emergency tonight, she’s been slipped something and hit her head. It’s put her in a bit of a tizzy. She’s okay but she will need to be picked up,” her posh english accent danced delicately through his mind as the words glued themselves to his frontal lobe. It annoyed John that she described being slipped something, y’know, possible roofies as ‘a bit of a tizzy’ but he held his tongue.

“Okay, you said Charing Cross? We’ll be there soon.” John said, his fist closing around the top of the closest chair to him.

“Thank you, Mr Price. Just ask for me when you get there,” Suzanna said.

With a goodbye, John hung up. He pulled the keys to the task force’s minivan out of his pocket and cast a look at his teammates before beginning his walk to the car. He heard the sounds of his teammates following him, a scraping sound from a chair and several differently weighted footfalls.

It felt similar to gearing up for a mission, tension high and emotions fighting within them as their hearts beat violently in their ears. John felt surprisingly naked for how dressed he was, after all, his only immediate weapon was the key to a minivan. A minivan you had convinced him that the task force needed for their rec time. You couldn’t be squished in between Ghost and Soap in the back seat continuously, especially if you got drunk enough to vomit. He felt his hand tighten and relax against the cold of the key in his fist.

Everyone filed into the minivan quietly, taking their assumed seats and each beginning their nervous ticks. Soap’s leg provided timing as it thumped wildly in the back seat. Ghost began his rhythmic cleaning and reassembling of his hand gun, consuming himself with the task. Gaz stared out the passenger seat of the minivan, memorising the path in his mind.

The drive to the hospital felt like it stretched on for hours, even with it only being 30 minutes.

John saw the whites of his knuckles as he clenched the steering wheel hard. He drove just barely over the limit, nothing to make them be pulled over but fast enough that he felt like he was making a difference.

He’d never dwelled on the bond he’d formed with any of the task force, choosing instead to focus on the important work that they’d been completing. He let himself ponder it for a moment, trying to distract from the worry and anger. He considered the bond he had with all of his fellow teammates. They shared most downtime and leave together.

They all found it hard to connect to friends and family after all the atrocities they’d witnessed and committed. That’s where the bond between them had become their found family.

He’d never felt any romantic or sexual attraction to you or anyone else in the taskforce, that was certain. The bond between you all was mostly platonic and strong.

He had developed several grey hairs at stunts that you or your fellow teammates had pulled, but the tug at his heart strings made John wonder if maybe the bond between you two was more like father-daughter. There was only a 12 year difference between the both of you, he could hardly be a father to you (and if he was a father, the child would only be a toddler). But the feeling of protectiveness that washed over him when it came to you, proved that whatever bond had formed was stronger than ever.

He chose not to explore his feelings then as he felt more anger course through his body at the situation. Focusing his attention on the road and snaking a quick glance at the GPS, he counted out how many more right-hand turns there would be before they would be at the hospital.

The group arrived not ten minutes later and after a shitty parking job they hauled themselves to the A&E, heading directly for the triage nurse.

The triage nurse sat behind a small plexi-glass screen, she was lit up by the blue glow of the computer in front of her. She was squirrely in appearance, bushy hair sticking out from her head in a ponytail, many more hairs sticking out in strange angles. Her glasses made her constantly look surprised. Her name tag read Grace.

She barely spared him a glance, “Name and emergency?”

“We’re here for Sgt. (y/n) (l/n),” John said, his voice gruff. Soap was directly behind him, arms crossed and on the defensive. Ghost and Gaz stood behind them.

John watched the triage nurse look up and have a proper look at the men in front of her. Her eyes widened a bit and he supposed he should ease up on her. A group of tall and broody men had just walked into A&E and demanded access to a patient, it was strange at best. He softened his face and eyes and muttered a ‘please’. He watched as she nodded and began typing away at the computer.

“Is a Miss (y/n) (l/n) the one you’re looking for?” She asked, pushing up her glasses as they slowly descended down her nose.

“Yes,” Soap piped up from behind John before he could speak. John moved slightly to the side so that the nurse could see where the voice was coming from.

“I’ll call Susie over, have a seat and she’ll be with you soon,” she said, giving a warm smile, well as warm as she could with four terrifying men staring her down.

The 141 moved to sit down in a secluded area of the waiting room, each redeveloping their nervous ticks. They would just have to wait, not that any of them wanted to.

Suzanna sat behind the plexi glass with Grace, listening to Grace speak and watching her point to which people were here for her roofie patient.

Her face paled slightly. There were four hulking men sitting in the corner of the waiting room, each scarier than the last, a mix of fear and anger (but mainly the latter) smattering their faces. She hoped that these men wouldn’t become violent, after all they were intimidating the rest of A&E, one was even wearing a balaclava.

She exited the staff only section and began walking towards them. She looked a right sight with the bags under her eyes and her hands slightly chapped but she held her composure as much as she could.

The 141 had been sitting in tense silence since they had sat down, the nine minute wait between sitting and Suzanna coming over to them was next to torture. Soap’s leg was bouncing wildly as John fumbled around with the keys in his hand. Gaz and Ghost were remarkably composed as they sat the quietest, observing their surroundings anxiously.

They watched as a nurse, they presumed was Suzanna, walked straight over to them, she looked sleep deprived and completely awake at the same time. Her hair was up in a bun and she was checking the time on her watch.

“Hello, I’m Suzanna, you must be Mr Price. Can we sit and talk please?” She asked. Her voice was the same on the phone, dainty and posh. It was slightly less insufferable now that they were closer to actually making sure you were okay with their own eyes.

“Call me John,” John said, and gestured for his group to sit down. Suzanna nodded to him and took a seat opposite them, crossing her legs.

“Most of the blood Miss (l/n) was covered in isn’t hers, but she was banged up a little. A piece of the back of her skull has a small crack but it’s still connected so we don’t have any worries about that. Her nose is broken, but it’s been set and it shouldn’t be touched for a few more weeks. She has a small concussion but it’s not too much of a worry so she’s able to be taken home with you.

“She’ll need to follow up with her GP in a few weeks. Or.. um… I think you might have an on base GP but I’m honestly not sure,” Suzanna said, her voice was steady despite the unease that pulled at her spine. Apprehension about the men in front of her and sadness at what had happened to you mixed inside her. It made her curl inward, desperate to keep herself as far away from these men as possible, as scared of them as she was over what happened to you.

“We do, she’ll have her follow up there,” John said, bringing her out of her thoughts, “But you’ll have to transfer her medical files over.”

“Ah, yes, I’ll get your base’s GP information before you leave and I’ll have them faxed over tomorrow morning,” Suzanna said.

John let out a grunt in agreement with a small nod. Suzanna straightened up as she clasped her hands in front of her and continued, “She was dosed with Rohypnol and it won't be fully out of her system for a few hours yet, but we don’t have the space to keep her unfortunately. She was clutching a knife when she came in and we think that's what stopped it from becoming any worse than it was.”

Soap’s eyes widened, his knife had stopped it. But at what stage in the assault? What had that fucker done to you first?

As if sensing Soap’s thoughts, John spoke, “Was she actually raped?” He felt like he was back at work, forcing uncomfortable questions about victims of terror out of his mouth out of need of information. He hated that he was speaking about you and despite having no clue about what had truly unfolded, guilt hung heavy on all of their hearts as they waded through the mess of anger and fear.

Why couldn’t they have stopped you from going? Why didn’t anyone think of this and stop it? They were completely blindsided.

“Raped? No, we can’t find anything to suggest so,” he felt a weight lift off his heart, they all did, but a smaller weight replaced it as she continued, “But she’s definitely been assaulted and possibly sexually assaulted. Her clothes are torn badly and we gave her a blanket for now but we will need it back,” Suzanna said, making eye contact with him, her eyes were stormy and John could only assume that she was also glad that it hadn’t gotten any further.

He heard Gaz mutter something about ‘the shit foundations of the National Health Service’.

“Thank you,” John said quickly, trying to cover up Gaz’s comment before she could take offence.

“A good samaritan found her. We’ve taken enough details that if she’d like to file a police report, she can request the information and proceed that way but because she had a knife it may not go anywhere,” Suzanna said, John nodding along, “I’ll take you to her.”

John thanked her again and everyone stood. “I can only take two of you back, A&E policy and such,” She said, gazing nervously between the men.

John handed the car key down to Gaz, giving him a silent intrsuction as Gaz took the key. Ghost caught John’s eyes, his accent thick as he spoke, “Do you have the GP information?”

Understanding flooded through John’s eyes, he nodded and turned to Soap, “You and I will go back, Riley will wait here for you to come back and you two will take her to the car while I give the nurse the GP info. Garrick will go and get the car ready. Got it?” John had omitted Ghost’s nickname so as not to scare the nurse further. Ghost was already in a black balaclava, any less frightening way John could go about talking to the nurse, he would.

There was a collective nod among the group and they began to split. Gaz walked off towards the car and Ghost sat back down.

John nodded to Suzanna and she began to walk away, flashing her key card to open the door to the examination rooms, leading them out of the waiting room.

They wove through several different corridors before they came to a room. A pink flower sign hung on the door next to the words ‘Sexual Assault. Proceed with Care’. The sign made John and Soap hold their breaths for a moment, the weight of the assault crashing onto them like Atlas holding the weight of the heavens.

Suzanna knocked before opening the door, but it wouldn't have made a difference, you could barely hear, “Hello again, Miss (l/n).”

John and Soap had never felt more disgusted at the sight and smell of blood. It caked the fabric of your dress and your belongings.

You were curled up on the examination bed, it lay in the corner of the room, as far from the door and possible danger as could be. From their position at the entryway to the door they could see where the bruises were forming, where the blood had dried on your skin and the rip in the skirt of your dress.

Your belongings sat at the end of the bed, rumpled in a heap. Your heels were off, peaking out at the bottom of the heap, followed by your purse. Right on top were your jacket, which was covered in dried blood, and Soap’s knife, un-retracted and also covered in dried blood.

John walked over to you slowly, Soap following him as Suzanna stood at the threshold. While she was confident they cared for you, she stayed for a moment, waiting for John and just in case she needed to press the panic button.

You began to cry, pushing the hands that picked you up. The nightmare had stopped, you had stabbed him, why was someone touching you now? You felt yourself being placed back on the uncomfortable bed gently.

Rough and calloused hands lifted your head. You barely had the energy to open your eyes but you did. You were terrified, scared you would see Jeremy again or maybe it was some other scumbag scavenger ready to prey on you again. Fear froze you almost in place as you pushed at the person holding you. From their lack of movement you assumed that your hits were weak.

Using what little strength you had left, you forced your eyes open sluggishly. The face of your captain, John Price, lit up your vision, and you noticed Soap in your peripheral. The relief was instant. You let your eyes close again, your body collapsing into his hands from a mix of exhaustion and the roofy still in your system. You felt more tears escape your eyes, running wet tracks through the dirt smeared over your face.

Your hearing was clearing up now that you weren’t on high alert. A faint beep of a heart monitor sounded from somewhere in the distance, through a wall you thought. You were in a hospital. Who had found you? What had happened to you?

“You’re okay, (y/n), no one’s going to hurt you. You’re okay,” he said. You struggled to process his words through the haze clouding your brain. You were dipping in and out of consciousness, thick, murky fog obscuring your thoughts.

John moved his hands to the back of your neck, manoeuvring your head back down gently to the exam bed. He felt the tacky blood at the nape of your neck, with flecks of dried blood from around the area rubbing off onto his hands. He willed himself to steel his composure.

He spared a brief glance down at your legs, the rips of your dress leaving them open for viewing, the blanket had long since slipped off of you. He saw scratches, and bruises upon bruises, the hand shaped ones sticking out in his mind. He forced himself to look away, bile rising in his throat.

John felt hopeless. You couldn’t open your eyes again and you couldn’t hold yourself up.

Protecting you from unspeakable evil on a battlefield seemed like second nature. He never felt the need to protect any of his crew during rec time or immediately after missions, so he didn’t, they were capable.

None of you were weak, but roofies posed a new threat, an almost undetectable threat in their rec time. He doubted he’d ever feel comfortable letting you just go on dates again without vetting the guy first. Whoever it was that had done this to you, John thought, would get what was coming to them.

He turned to Soap, and had a non-verbal conversation through eye contact before walking towards Suzanna, ‘Take care of her and I’ll help the nurse, I’ll be back’.

John brushed against Soap as he walked by, urging Soap to go help you with a look. Soap didn’t need any instruction, already on his way over to you, the closer he got, the more destruction he saw. There was blood near the top of your head, disappearing down the back of your skull, the bruises on your face had already turned purple, two scratch lines going across your left cheek. Two white strips were affixed over your nose, not that Johnny ever thought they would do anything.

Anger flooded through his veins as he bent down to gently move your hair out of your face, noticing the tear tracks down your face. “Hey, lass, ‘m righ’ here, you’re goin’ t’ be okay,” Soap said, his accent thick and his voice wavering slightly.

You heard Soap’s voice through the fog and you could almost cry, you were completely safe now. The men you trusted were here to save you and you cried harder at the realisation.

He saw more tears escape your eyes as he gently brushed his hands against your cheeks. He removed his hands for a moment to grab the knife atop your clothes but the sight of your legs stopped him.

Multiple long and red scratch lines tore down both of your legs, they only looked like they’d only drawn enough blood to fill the cuts but they were puffy and irritated. The bruises that covered your legs looked less bad than the ones on your face. They were still angrily purple and red, swollen and mutilated, he was furious.

Johnny clenched and unclenched his jaw, trying hard not to let his anger overwhelm him while he was trying to help you. He grabbed the knife quickly, pushing himself away from the view of your abused legs. Retracting the blade, he shoved it into his pocket, he’d deal with it later.

As he moved his eyes back up your form he spotted another bruise, one on your upper arm. It was the shape of some fucker’s hand. The bruise was an angry violet, small crescent cuts adorning it from where the person’s fingernails had dug into your arm. Oh, he was going to fucking kill them.

He moved back to your head, trying to coax you to lift it up, moving his hands gently against your neck, but it was no use. The roofies in your system weighed you down, and he saw the struggle you had before to not only push your arms but open your eyes.

He abandoned trying to get you to move for yourself and shucked off his jacket, leaving it on the bed next to your stuff. He began to mould you into place against his chest.

You could feel your body being moved, and the solid build of someone’s chest as you lay against them, your legs were moved to curl around their waist as they picked you up. They moved your arms to lie over their shoulders.

You pushed your eyes open a crack to be met with the shirt you’d seen Johnny wear earlier when he was finishing paperwork. You let your eyes close as you breathed in his scent, letting it relax you as you stopped crying.

Soap moved to hold you securely against him as he stood up, one arm going to hold you from under your arse and one going over your back. He felt bad about having to be so close to your arse after you’d just gone through that. He rubbed your back with his other hand, trying to soothe you in case you got worried someone was going to hurt you.

He would have done another carry but it was impractical for going through doors and the other carry would leave you even more exposed.

He moved to rest his backside against the bed, grabbing his jacket and placing it halfway down your back. Covering your lower half with his jacket, he worked to fit the jacket as close to your skin as possible, so that you could feel another layer between you and someone touching you physically while you were vulnerable.

John walked back into the room, making his way over to your pile of stuff and picking it up before motioning Soap to start walking. Soap stood up fully, bearing your weight like it was nothing, and moved towards the room’s threshold where Suzanna stood waiting.

She walked them out through the maze of examination rooms and hallways, arriving back at the waiting room. Ghost was just outside the automatic doors, he put his lighter back in his pocket. He must have gone out for a cigarette to calm his nerves, as the smell hung around him.

Soap walked on towards the car, letting Ghost flank him and John bring up the rear. Your shoes, jacket and bag sat in John’s arms as they walked towards the car.

Soap’s mind mulled over his knife. It was covered in dried blood, and from when he picked it up while in the examination room, the blood flaking off in his hands, you must have gotten a very good vein on the person attacking you for there to be that much blood on the knife. He had never meant for you to actually use it, but he was more than thankful that he’d thrown it to you.

It wasn’t often that Soap didn’t delight in saying ‘I told you so’ but this time the sick feeling of gratitude for his ‘just in case’ feeling kept him from speaking.

It took a lot to shake Soap, after having seen so much death and destruction and torture he was almost desensitized to it. But this? His emotions were a mix of disgust and fear, making him hold onto you strongly, afraid that letting you go would put you back in this awful situation.

Arriving at the car, Gaz moved from the driver seat to the passenger seat, leaving the driver’s door open for his captain to get in.

Ghost slid open the side door, and got in. As weird as it felt, Ghost moved to sit in your usual seat at the very back of the minivan. It would be impractical to try and get you into your usual spot.

Soap removed his jacket from your back and placed you in the car, putting you in the seat behind John. It was easier to manoeuvre you from that seat, especially since you couldn’t move yourself. His large hands tried to be as gentle as possible over the huge bruises that adorned you. He handled your head with extra care as he placed it to lean against the headrest.

He leaned over you, silently apologising again as he grabbed the seatbelt, pulling it over your body as gently as he could, as if you were a bomb set to detonate with any slightly harsh movement. He picked his jacket up again, placing it over your legs. He hopes that the warmth would comfort you, and that it might give you just a bit more privacy.

He climbed in after positioning you, turning around to close the door. He stopped when he saw Price’s hand on the door.

Price wasn’t someone inclined to show emotions, especially when the job toughened him up. But as he stared at you, broken, beaten and with roofies still in your system, he couldn’t not show affection. He leant down and kissed your forehead. Sure, you would never remember, but the small act of affection made him feel like he was making a difference in the long and tough journey that you would have in recovery.

Price shut the door with a slam, before getting into the driver's seat and starting the car.

The drive back wasn’t as tense, but it sure was depressing. No one dared speak over the soft hum of the engine. Soap moved his hand over to your arm, where the worst bruise was. He ghosted his fingers over it before reaching for your hand. It was limp, but he took it in his, drawing patterns on the back of your knuckles with his thumb.

Like Price’s kiss on your forehead, Soap wanted to show, through whatever thoughts of yours he couldn’t decipher, that he was here for you, and was going to support you.

Every one of them was angry, out of all the evil in the world that could have hurt you, it wasn’t anything they knew of that had hurt you. They didn’t know who you had gone on a date with, or who had done this to you.

There were only two things that the men were certain of, if they ever got their hands on this man, they would kill him slowly and painfully, and they would get him (there was no doubt about that) and they were going to make sure you were okay, no matter what got in their way.

#x reader #mw2 #john price #ghost #simon riley #soap #johnny mactavish #gaz cod #yvettepenned #platonic #female reader #assault #assault with a knife #attempted sexual assault #mature #MDNI #roofies #r18

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yvettepenned · 2 years

Text

Not as expected [Top Gun Maverick - Robert "Bob" Floyd]

Masterpost | Request Info | Coming Soon!

Clarification/Warnings: pregnancy, discussion of miscarriage, fighting, hangman being a dick, allusions to smut/suggestive content (18+ | minors DNI),

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x female!reader, Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell x daughter!reader, Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x sister-by-situation!reader,

Category | Scenario: fluff, angst | Your relationship with Bob has been strictly under wraps due to your family's no pilots rule. With a baby on the way however, everything hits the fan.

Word Count: 4.2k

Bob’s glasses sat upon the nightstand atop his neatly folding polishing cloth. They were the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes that morning and you gave a small smile at the sight. It took a couple seconds for you to get your bearings, but Bob’s hand resting over your waist and on your growing stomach provided you with comfort.

You felt Bob’s head nuzzle against yours before settling down with his mouth a few inches from your ear. “Mornin’ darlin’,” you heard his raspy morning voice say.

“Morning, Robby,” you said, turning slightly to see the gentle sunlight gracing his face.

In the early morning lighting he looked beautiful, not to say he doesn’t look hot any other time, but it was especially more prominent in these moments of domestic bliss.

“Quit staring, my darlin’.”

“Why would I quit staring when you’re so damn handsome,” you said.

You saw his face flush a light pink before he opened his eyes to gaze at you. A smile crept onto his face as his hand began to curl further downward to fully hold your belly.

“And how’s my two favourite sweethearts doing this mornin?” His slight texan drawl was soft and sweet as he began kissing your shoulder while his hand caressed your lower tummy. His accent had become more American Standard since joining the Navy, but whenever he was tired or had just woken up, (and especially when drunk) it broke through and you thought it was absolutely sexy.

While you had technically kept to your fathers rule of “No Pilots” by dating a WSO, you knew that he would have it out for Bob the second that they met. And with your boyfriends’, brothers’ and dads’ jobs all being the same occupation, you were hoping that meeting Bob first in a professional context would dampen your brothers’ and dads’ rage.

You and Bob had been dating for two years, but scheduling issues from deployments, holidays and general life it had made it almost impossible to introduce Bob to both your brother, and your dad. The complications were only made worse by the fact that Bradley and Pete refused to be in the same room without arguing and would most likely make the whole announcement about their feud, rather than your engagement and baby on the way. So you elected not to tell them anything.

“No vomiting yet which is a win, and she feels a little heavier today,” you said, head snuggling backward under Bob’s head as he kissed all over your collarbone and neck.

“She?”

“Just a feeling.”

Bob pulled away for a second to look at you, giving you a small smile before his face became more serious. “And no pain?”

“No pain Robby, fully in the safe zone,” you said as Bob began nuzzling back into your neck.

You were half-way through your fourth official ‘month’ of pregnancy. The first trimester was your personal hell, the vomiting constantly, dangerous mood swings, and the fatigue was almost torture. But the worst part of it was the constant worrying.

Before this pregnancy, you’d had a loss. It was an accident, so you’d had all the talks about support, whether Bob would stay and if he was ready to be a father. Bob had agreed to everything, over the moon with you at the prospect of parenthood. Despite this, there were different forces at play.

After an exciting proposal (and the night before you and Bob were to travel to San Diego to meet with both your dad and your brother separately, to introduce them to your, now, fiance) at almost three months along, you woke up to the worst bleeding.

While it had been six months since you had last seen your dad, Pete “Maverick” Mitchell, and four since you’d seen your “kid” brother Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw (Bradley always liked to remind you that you were 3 years younger than him, so you were his kid-sister), all of that was gone from your mind as you rushed to the hospital.

You remember distinctly the hot blood staining your legs, almost burning you as it oozed through your night-dress into the sheets. Recalling it now, it looked like it felt like it had passed in the blink of an eye but the experience was slow and painful, leaving you grief-stricken and worried about any future pregnancies. You called off meeting with both of them, faking a break up to explain your absence, a lie that would eventually bite you in the ass, but being comforted by your fiance in that moment was all you could manage to deal with.

The hurt of the loss had stayed with you for months, it still lasted to today, but it was duller. But three months ago, you had found out once again you were pregnant, another “accident” (while technically an accident, there were a few times without a condom for no reason, so was it really an accident?). There were many nights you were scared to sleep in case you would miscarry. With the help of Bob and your doctor, you were finally able to sleep, however the thought still worried you. At three months, the worries started to lessen, but didn’t fully lessen until yesterday’s milestone - 18 weeks, or four and a half months.

It had taken you an extra month and a half to be completely comfortable that you wouldn’t miscarry, but you finally felt okay.

You let out a small breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“You ok, darlin?” Bob asked.

“I’m ok, I’m just wondering how we are going to tell them,” you said.

You’d been trying to come up with ideas for the past week, trying to figure out how to tell your Dad and brother you were pregnant. Not only pregnant, but four months along and with a fiance to boot, oh and the break-up months ago? Fake. With their routine of threatening every boyfriend you had ever had and with their clear No Pilots rule, you were fucked. Technically you were still in the clear, but you were sure your “technicality” would be ignored. He is a Navy WSO, but not technically a “pilot”.

The last boyfriend you’d had, they’d threatened to cut his dick off and gave him the scare of his life. While it wasn’t the main reason for that boyfriend breaking up with you, it was one of the reasons. So since then, you’d refrained from introducing boyfriends until they’d agreed to calm down, or so far into the relationship that the boy wouldn’t be scared off.

The problem became apparent after you’d gotten out of the danger zone. They had known that you’d moved in with someone, but they were told you had broken up with him. But now you had to tell them that, no, you hadn’t broken up with the person, you had just said so to get out of talking about your miscarriage. Finding out they were now all in a team together was the cherry on top, so you and Bob were brainstorming ideas on how to break the news to your family.

At the time you had met Bob, you didn’t know his job, and Bob didn’t know your relatives. He had come up to you in a bar in some obscure part of the American outback years ago, a blush on his face as he began talking shyly. There was a whirlwind meeting filled with laughing and “subtle” flirting, followed by an exchange of numbers. You two remained friends for a year, pining while talking to the love of your life proved difficult for the both of you and after one fateful drunken confession, the two of you began to date. After the second date you found out the connection, but, the world’s a big place right? You told Bob about your family just in-case anything happened.

The first few months of official dating were heaven, small cutesy dates and long dinners and nights talking about anything and everything under the sun. The two of you were infatuated with each other. And despite Bob having to leave for deployment and for missions, the two of you ended up moving in together only seven months in. Between work and moving places, you were his home. Two years in, you and Bob were happy as ever.

“Darlin, all that worrying is going to drain you before you’ve even started the day,” Bob said as his hands gently rubbed your sides, easing the tension out of your muscles, trailing kisses up and down your neck, drawing you out of your thoughts as he went.

“I know, I’m just worried,” you said, toying with the small amount of hair covering Bob’s chest.

“How ‘bout I take your mind off it, darlin? Get those lips saying somethin’ different,” Bob slowly peeled the blanket off you before shimmying down the bed, pulling your leg closest to him over his head to rest on his shoulder.

“Yes please, Lieutenant Floyd,” you said, fingers already tangling into his hair.

“Of course, Mrs Floyd.”

—

“My fiance is pregnant, Phoenix,” Rooster heard Bob say as he entered the break room on base.

The room was small, only three two-seater tables put side by side to make one big table crowded the little amount of floor space. A couple cabinets and a sink with a small bench stood over in the far corner of the room, along with a dingy old fridge that gave off a soft hum as it ran. This room was only really used to put lunch foods in for people staying temporarily on base as most people on base ate in the cafeteria. Rooster strode over to the fridge before opening it and retrieving his left-over pizza from the night before.

Phoenix and Bob gave Rooster a quick nod in acknowledgement before moving back onto their conversation while Bob’s face paled slightly. Fuck. Not him, not now.

“Congrats Bob, maybe you’ll finally let us meet her. How far along is she?” Phoenix asked while looking at the ultrasound picture Bob had handed to her.

“She’s four an’ a half months along now, we wanted to wait until we were completely sure she wouldn’t miscarry, she did last time at 8 weeks, and she was so distraught. Wish I coulda made it easier. We just didn’t want to have to tell anyone she had miscarried. But she’s doing so well now, she’s so happy, and so am I,” Bob said as he looked at the ultrasound, he had almost forgotten Rooster was in the room.

“She sounds amazing, Bob, and soon you’ll have a mini-you.” As soon as that came out of Phoenix's mouth, she could see the huge smile take over Bob’s face completely, his eyes lighting up. Phoenix was sure that if you took a photo of Bob’s face now and looked back at it, it would be as bright as the sun.

Bob was ecstatic, he was getting a child made from your and his love. He was finally going to have a child and it was with the love of his life, he couldn’t be happier.

It was at that moment, Jake “Hangman” Seresin decided to make his grand entrance from behind Bob. While doing his natural egotistical swagger, he snatched the photo out of Bob’s hands.

“Hangman, give it back,” Bob said, getting out of his chair and reaching for the picture, only to have Hangman move it further out of his reach. Lightning flashed through his veins as he made a move to get the photo from Jake, before it was pulled further out of his reach.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here? It looks like Bob here has a little someone he’s keeping from us,” Hangman said while admiring the ultrasound photo, “looking real cute, Bob.”

“Congrats Bob,” Rooster said through a mouthful of food.

Hangman held out the photo to Bob, while still studying the image and as Bob was about to grab it, Jake snatched it from his hands.

“Hangman, don’t be a dick,” Rooster said from his spot leaning against the sink, cold pizza halfway to his mouth.

“Thanks Rooster,” Bob said, his veins almost freezing over in fear as he made his face stern and glared at Hangman, “Give it back, Hangman, now.”

“Oh calm down dear Bob, it's just playful jeering, I’m happy for you,” Jake said with a smirk on his face before flicking his eyes down to small written script on the photo and flicking his eyes back up, “Wait, it says Mitchell on here, assuming you didn’t knock up Mav, this is [y/n] Mitchell? Oh Bob, don’t tell me you knocked up Mav’s daughter.” At that point Bob wanted nothing more than to punch that stupid smirk off his face.

“Give it back, Hangman,” Bob said, holding his hand open in anticipation. His voice was strong, but held a small quiver.

“Oh shit, it is Mav’s daughter, holy shit. Didn’t know you had it in you Bob. Must say, I’m pretty proud of you, getting a captain’s daughter and all.” Hangman was laughing at this point, a smug smile lay on his face, but quickly flicked the photo back to Bob who wasted no time in stuffing it gently back into his pocket.

“It’s not Maverick’s daughter,” Bob said, but it was meek and unconvincing. His heart thundered inside his chest as he gave a fleeting glance to Rooster who looked to be contemplating murder.

Hangman grabbed Bob around the shoulders before beginning a rendition of “Glory, Glory, what a hell of a way to die”. Bob had about one more whole second of Hangman being a dick before he felt Rooster slam him into the floor, jerking around Hangman in the process. It took another whole second before Rooster was being pulled back (a hair away from his punch landing) by Hangman, who dragged him to the other side of the room.

Phoenix was quick to pull her friend up, letting Bob grab her hand as she hauled him off the floor.

Rooster seemed to calm down for a second before he jerked again, trying to get out of Hangman’s grip. Hangman’s arms connected fully around Rooster and jerked him back before he made contact with Bob yet again. Bob took a few steps back before he was pretty much pushed against the far wall. Rooster’s pizza sat cold on the bench across the room.

“You fucked my sister AND you got her fucking pregnant. Fuck you, Bob, you’re a piece of shit,” Rooster yelled. Hangman’s arms tightened around Rooster as he tried to lunge for Bob again.

“Just because you didn’t know doesn’t mean I treat her badly, Rooster,” Bob said, his face downcast but his tone solid, “And I didn’t … fuck her… I made love to her, with her consent.”

“Yea “made love” that’s the stupidest fucking excuse I’ve ever heard Bob,” Rooster said, his face red and his words were soaking in venom, “You’re gonna pay for getting her fucking pregnant.”

A few beats passed around the room in tense silence before Maverick, ever the smart man, chose that moment to walk in. The scene before him sat like so, Rooster being held back by Hangman with Bob and Phoenix on the other side of the room with everyone’s heads turned in his direction.

“Mav, I’m gonna fucking kill Bob if you don’t,” Rooster said before trying to take another jerk towards Bob.

Maverick was absolutely bewildered, everyone always loved Bob, he was the loveable puppy of the group, what had he done that was so heinous?

As if on que for Maverick’s unspoken question, Rooster answered, “Bob got [y/n] pregnant.”

A wave of shock, ice cold in its feeling, passed over Maverick, and he almost stumbled.

“But Sir, I love your daughter and I’m not going to leave her, or force her to do anything, she wants this baby,” Bob said with a cautious look in his eyes, almost as if he was instructing a bear to run away from him. He had moved to stand in-front of Phoenix who was protecting him not a moment ago.

“Are you CRAZY?!” Maverick yelled before rushing forward, Phoenix quickly stepping in to stop Maverick from doing anything dumb.

It went back and forth for a few minutes of Bob trying to defend himself against the verbal onslaught from both Maverick and Rooster. Their accusations ranged from Bob corrupting you and abusing you to keeping you locked away and baby trapping you. The comments made him feel like shit, but he knew he had to power through it. He was never going to give you up based on something so inconsequential as a few horrid sentences.

A phone ringing broke the arguing. “Stupid Cupid” by Connie Francis began playing out of Bob’s phone speakers.

“I’m gonna take this call from her and you two are gonna shut up if you still want a relationship with her,” Bob said, nerves getting the better of him as his breathing quickened, his hands in juxtaposition with their steadiness. Before he picked your call up, he turned his back to the men in the room to look at Phoenix (who gave him a reassuring smile) as he spoke to you.

Maverick and Rooster looked shocked at the balls on him, but stood still in silence, waiting to hear the conversation, both breathing heavily in utter shock.

Then they heard your excited voice crackle on the other end of the line, “Honey! Honey! Honey! I felt a kick!”

Suddenly, this was all real, your pregnancy with Bob was tangible. It seals Maverick’s and Rooster’s fate, leaving a bad taste in their mouths. Rooster felt Hangman loosen the arms around him, before dropping them from him completely.

“Oh Baby, the books said you’d start to feel movement and kicking soon,” Bob said, a small smile playing on his face. He was almost calm and sounded so happy as he talked to you through your excitement.

The books.

They really were fucked. Especially if Bob had already bought and read the books. It also proved Bob was serious, and he wouldn't be leaving you, which lessened the blow of finding out you were pregnant, only slightly though.

It took a couple of minutes before Bob wrapped up his conversation with you, never letting you onto the fact that they had found out.

And he let out the conversation with a “I love you, Mrs Floyd.”

Rooster would have run back up to chew him out before he heard your soft voice crackle through the phone, “I love you too, Lieutenant Floyd.”

Rooster shook Hangman off completely before sitting down gruffly into one of the small plastic chairs at the table.

“All of you are missing the point that she’s a grown ass woman and if this was something she didn’t want to be doing, she’d find a way out,” Phoenix spoke up, finally speaking some sense into the group.

“Exactly,” Bob said.

It took a few minutes for anyone to speak up, but Maverick did first, “How far along is she?”

Bob looked at Maverick, “Four and a half months, or 18 weeks.”

Rooster muttered a ‘half-fucking-way’ under his breath but continued to look at his feet, arms crossed with a glare settled in his features.

“Is there a photo?” Maverick asked, swallowing before he spoke, his voice shaky and uncertain.

“Yes,” Bob said before stumbling to retrieve the photo from his pocket.

Maverick strode over quickly and took the photo from Bob’s hand. Rooster, Phoenix, Hangman and Bob heard as a breath hitched in his throat before he covered his mouth with his available hand. He soon sat at the table, gesturing Rooster over to sit with him, needing to sit before his knees buckled in shock.

“When did you know she was pregnant?” Rooster asked, voice hard and uncaring.

“7 weeks, but we waited until now to tell people, she wanted to be out of the danger zone before she told anyone,” Bob responded.

Rooster looked angry. His sister had waited 11 weeks - almost three months - to tell anyone that she was pregnant. And finding this out now was a mistake.

Bob picked up on Rooster’s face and answered, and for once his words cut someone, “Last time she was going to tell you she was pregnant, she miscarried, and she just couldn’t face telling people, so we waited until she felt completely safe this time.”. Rooster’s expression softened in sadness while Maverick looked almost distraught.

“I really do love her, that’s why I proposed. And I’m reading the books and going to the appointments and classes and I am going to be there for her whether you want me there or not. And I treat her well, Sir. Just ask her,” Bob said, his voice soft and almost begging for a good outcome as he kept eye-contact with Maverick.

“You proposed?” came Maverick’s soft reply as he handed the photo back to Bob. Maverick thought briefly of his last visit with Iceman and Iceman’s comment on taking care of his daughter but being less strict.

“Was always planning on it, sir, it just seemed like the perfect time,” Bob replied, “You can come see her if you want, but you can’t be rude. She has enough worry and fear, especially of your rejection and if you add to it, so help me, I will throw you both out.”

Bob’s words had a lasting impact on both Rooster and Maverick, making them both nod in silence, Rooster’s eyes finally coming up to meet Bob’s.

Bob stood up, “You can come over tonight, dinner is at 6.” With that, Bob left the room, Phoenix in tow but not before giving Hangman a warning glare with Hangman zipping his lips in response. “Secret’s safe with me, Nix.” Hangman said.

—

The drive to your and Bob’s house was awkward for both Pete and Bradley. After showing up at your house and briefly rendezvousing in the driveway, Rooster and MAv began the short trek to your front door. Before they could knock, Bob opened the door and stepped out onto the front porch and shut the front door.

“Since we’re not at work, and you’ll both be in my house, I think it’s worth it to mention that if either of you disrespect her or are in any way mean, you’ll be shown out. Do I make myself clear? With all due respect.” Bob asked.

The other two men were almost taken aback by Bob’s forwardness but gave him a small nod each and Bob turned back around to open the door. But they knew he was right, and they weren’t going to upset you, no matter how betrayed they felt.

Bob opened the door and walked them to the dining room before slipping into the kitchen, leaving Rooster and Mav in the dining room. “Hey darlin, an’ hello pumpkin’, I got you a surprise, come with me,” they heard Bob’s voice say before he returned to the room, his hand holding yours.

Bob quickly moved out of the way to show you your surprise. Your hands instinctively moved to your belly before you felt Bob squeeze your hand, giving you a small but encouraging smile.

“Hhey,” you said, your free hand coming to rest on the baby bump. It was small, but it was there. You saw your brother’s and dad’s eyes dart to your stomach and linger on it a bit long then you were comfortable with before their eyes returned to yours.

You opened your mouth to speak but your dad cut in, “It’s ok, sweetheart, we already had our conversation. But when were you gonna tell me?” He had a look on his face that was akin to a kicked puppy.

“Us,” Rooster spoke up from behind Maverick.

“Yea, us,” Maverick repeated.

“I don’t know, Dad, I was just scared,” you said, looking down, squeezing Bob’s hand as you rubbed your belly.

“Yea but I’m your old man, sweetheart, no matter what happens, I’m always going to be there for you, I love you,” Maverick said, walking up to you to give you a kiss on your forehead. You felt Bob’s hand let yours go as Mav’s cold hands rested on your warm face, you held back tears before he dragged you into a hug.

“I love you too dad, thank you,” you said, as you raised your arms for a hug. The hug ended too soon as Maverick stood to the side and waited with Bob.

Rooster was up next, standing in front of you with a look that made you feel like his hands were on his hips.

“So that wasn’t a food baby at last month's family lunch,” Rooster finally said before leaning down and bringing you into a gentle hug.

The connection was desperately needed and you let a few tears slip, basking in the warmth and safety of his hug. Everything was going to be okay, there was no doomsday of Bob being threatened and no hatred infiltrated the room.

That hug too, ended too soon, but before you could be sad, Rooster took your hand and squeezed it with a reassuring smile adorning his face.

“Anyone want to feel the baby kick?” you asked as a chorus of ‘yes’s greeted you.

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