Chapter Text
Sitting in the chair in 141’s holding cell was you, an arms dealer who somehow caught the attention of an elite task force. Why them? You don’t know. It could be because one of your clients had ties to them, and they led 141 right to your doorstep, it could be because you’d slipped up and didn’t secure a location properly (though, with all your paranoia, you doubted), or it could be because of your past ties with the British Army. You had all the time to needed to wonder about why and how such a large ranking group got involved in some arms dealing, but what actually needed your attention was how you’d get yourself out.
141 hadn’t started interrogating yet, they were too busy with things you wouldn’t ever get the clearance to know, and frankly, you were grateful for it. It gave you time and opportunity, both of which were very, very important in your world.
The room you were in wasn’t underground, and you weren’t on any higher floors either. From the small, barred window behind your chair, you could make out the earth’s floor, even through the bright sunlight. That was good, but it didn’t make it easy. The sight of freedom does not promise such. You spent all your time thinking and planning, hoping to have at least, to some extent, an idea or plan. Thankfully, by the time 141 filed in, you had slightly less than half of a plan, and a 35% success rate.
Good? No. Workable? Yes.
You just had to do a little stalling. Getting 141 to leave you alone at least once more was priority, then you’d be able to find your way around the system. After all, no system was perfect. That was something you knew for a fact. There was a camera in the hall, but you were sure there was a blind spot you could get around. Every flaw should be accounted for.
All this thinking and planning was immediately swept from your mind when you noticed just who walked into the cell. There were four, large soldiers looming over the chair you sat on, all over 182 centimeters, with each having at least one noticeable feature.
But that wasn’t what caught your eye, it was rather the fact that one of them was your damn sergeant– or, in this case, former sergeant. Blinking, your eyebrows knit together as you focus solely on him. That had to be him, you were sure of it.
He stepped into the light provided by the small barred window.
Yes. It was. His face was unforgettable, even after you’d convinced yourself you’d properly forgotten him. It didn’t matter whether you forgot him or not, because it would always, always come rushing back to you when you saw his face again. The problem was, you didn’t think you’d ever see his face again until now. Cocoa skin, steady eyes, thumbs always hooked under the straps of his vest.
And even if his appearance was pretty forgettable, one of the other members, a veteran-looking dude with a boonie hat, had muttered his callsign prior to entering.
Gaz. Just like you remembered it. Sergeant Kyle “Gaz” Garrick. Whispering it yourself as you stared at him, you found that it still had that same, naturally gentle lilt. It had sounded rougher on the boonie man’s tongue, though. You shifted your gaze onto Mr. Boonie, seeing that he was somewhat familiar. You tried to recall who Mr. Boonie was, but your thoughts were cut off once more when you noticed Gaz staring at you from the corner of your eye. Steady, sharp sergeant gaze…
Looks like he’s recognised you, too. Good to know he remembered who you were. Well, not good because it made things complicated, but it was nice to know. It shouldn’t be nice. You shouldn’t care about it as much as you do.
You hold his gaze, tilting your head with that outward indifference that hid how conflicted you were with this unpleasant reunion.
By the time all of 141 has circled you like hungry, predatory sharks, and demanded answers with voices that made them sound half dead (except for Gaz), you’ve started to realise that 141 doesn’t know who you are to Gaz. They knew about your past ties with the British Army (they kept bringing it up) and your association with The Duke of Lancester’s Regiment, but surprisingly not about your past relationship with Gaz.
Everyone else didn’t seem to notice just how thick the air was between their sergeant and their prisoner, and you were sure both of you wanted it to stay that way. You knew Gaz, plus, if he wanted them to know, he’d have said something by now. No one needed to know except the two of you, it was better that way. Less problems, less complications.
The interrogation was long and psychological, but you’d been trained for both those things. You took every little detail that the universe threw at you– catching their names from murmurs across the cell, playing subtle tricks that they wouldn’t notice, and the classic move, finding out what made them falter. They may have been interrogation you, but that didn’t give you any less of a reason to observe as close as you could.
Later on in the interrogation, the big guy with the skull-face stepped into the corner with Mr. Boonie to talk about something, and you managed to catch their names.
The skull-face was apparently “Ghost”. You wondered what he had done to have earned such an edgy callsign, whereas Mr. Boonie was Price.
You finally remembered him now. He was the captain who’d assisted you and your team, and especially Gaz, in the Piccadilly Attack, which was also the last mission you had with Gaz before he decided to leave for 141.
You remembered hearing his resentment towards brass, all the higher-ups who dictated everyone under them, made half-assed decisions, and treated the military like it was a sandbox game, then proceeding to yell at recruits for treating it like a game themselves. It had made you interested in him, too, since you shared practically the same mindset. Gaz had gotten the opportunity to get closer to the captain, and he’d said Price was a nice guy and a great leader— then he up and left with him like a teenager running away with their first love. Of course, you didn’t hold a grudge on him because he left. It was a great offer, and you were glad he got the chance for something more, but sometimes, even after he left, you wondered how long he thought of you or the rest of his team before accepting the offer.
You really shouldn’t care as much as you do.