imagine you’re a civilian who’s held hostage with price, but you don’t know he’s in the special forces, until he’s forced to whisper it in your ear as a way to try and calm you down as you begin to hyperventilate. telling you how if your captors knew, they’d kill him straight away, but he knows his men are already out looking for him.
and then it all starts to make sense, the way he never seemed fazed by the two days that you’ve both been locked up for, the constant reassurance he offered when you began getting overly emotional, the checking in on you, the advice he offered to drink sips, not gulps and ways to conserve your energy.
he knows he gave you hope, as you become more talkative, making conversation about your outside lives. asking him personal questions that he doesn’t mind to answer for you, and seeing how you perk up talking about yours, he reciprocates the questions.
by day five, it feels like ten, but you’ve become a peace for one another. talking escapes you both, temporarily erasing the memory of your current situation.
you’re there, rushing to his side when he gets a blow to the face from one of your detainers, a result of his unsmart mouth, asking him how to help stop the bleeding from the gash on his cheek. he tries to shoo you away, ensuring he’s fine, but once you rip a piece of fabric from your t-shirt and press it to his injury, it’s almost like he rests into your touch.
he begins becoming protective, when a captor makes a beeline for you, he won’t hesitate but to use himself as a human shield. willingly taking another punch or kick a punishment for his distraction. when a small bottle of water and stale food is shoved underneath the gate, he’ll make sure you have more than he does, refusing to listen to your protests. whenever he’s able to sleep, he’ll place himself closest to the door, in front of you, yet always facing you. once you’re tired, he’ll urge you to sleep, making sure he doesn’t sleep for too long at the same time.
the only time that john panics in that cell, is when a gun is pulled up to your head, as a blackmailing tactic for information.
information that your brain doesn’t comprehend as your body is whirling in fight or flight. you watch on as he attempts to bargain with the man behind you, whilst still offering you comfort with the way his eyes soften as they meet yours, and a hand reaching out towards you.
and that’s when the cavalry arrive.
the chance to fall to your knees, free from the enemy’s grasp as he runs towards the gunfire, john lunging forwards to collect you in his arms. cradling you into his chest as you fall apart against him. he soothes you, telling you that it’s all over, that you’re okay.
you don’t leave johns side until you arrive at the hospital. glued to him from the moment he stood you up and walked out the cell with pulled into his side, hearing words of affirmation towards him from those who refer to him as “captain”. in the helicopter, he still had you right there, so close to him, you may as-well be one. that’s why the nurses have to pretty much pry you from him when you land.
conveniently, you both end up on other sides of the building, as your vitals are checked and monitored. not knowing that john was discharged almost straight away, and on his way to find you within the first couple of hours, to everyone else’s dismay.
he doesn’t know the emotion he feels the second he see’s you asleep, but all he knows is that the sight brings him to the verge of tears. the drip that’s connected to the top of your hand, the continuous beeping that mirrors your steady heartbeat, but most of all — how peaceful and healthy you look already. admiring you, he quietly finds himself beside your bed, his hand subconsciously wrapping around yours, instantly noticing the warmth that you now possess. and when you slightly flinch, and flicker your eyes open to meet his, the small smile that forms on your lips almost brings john to his knees.
and that, right there, is how he knows that even though the way you met wasn’t ideal, he wants you beside him for the rest of his life.
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