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callofdooty · 1 year

Text

And Slowly Suffocating, We're Dying

Also posted onto AO3

Fandom: Call of Duty: Ghosts

Summary: Written for Whumpril 2023 Day 23: Smoke | Bloodstains | Sharing Clothes

"It's hard to tell whether the acrid taste on her tongue is a product of the curl of despair running restless in her stomach, or the smoke that has now quickly consumed the room. It chokes her all the same, and as she curls over, knees pressed against broken wood and glass, coughing fruitlessly against toxic plumes, she can't help but feel that this ending, of all endings, is fitting. She always knew the fire would catch up to her. Years of dancing around it, fearing it, controlling it culminated in this one last inferno. Unfair and just, all at once.

Healthy, fearsome cracks and the creaks and groans of a slowly collapsing building were the only sounds to accompany her demise. A symphony of dustruction, though not exactly a score one would think they'd die by, feels all too suited as well. Speaking volumes without words, echoing the life she lived; a life of hatred, spite and vitriolic anger.

But was it?

Begs the question, where did she truly begin? Are ashes truly her foundation?"

OR: Mouse (OC) ponders her regrets, and the inevitability of her own demise.

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Logan Walker/Original Female Character (moreso just hinted)

Warning/labels: Blood, Fire, repeated mentions of a corpse, Death, Dying, Character being Resigned to their own death, Grief, Angst, Fire, Smoke, Female Whumpee (is that a thing that needs tagging? There just in case), Murder

Hatch is dead.

Years ago, that phrase would have been a relief.

And only shortly before then, the phrase would have been devastating.

And right now...

Well. Right now, both ring true.

It's hard to tell whether the acrid taste on her tongue is a product of the curl of despair running restless in her stomach, or the smoke that has now quickly consumed the room. It chokes her all the same, and as she curls over, knees pressed against broken wood and glass, coughing fruitlessly against toxic plumes, she can't help but feel that this ending, of all endings, is fitting. She always knew the fire would catch up to her. Years of dancing around it, fearing it, controlling it culminated in this one last inferno. Unfair and just, all at once.

But was it?

Begs the question, where did she truly begin? Are ashes truly her foundation?

Is it even worth wondering at this point?

Probably not. But it passes the time. There's not much else to think about in the face of death.

A small part of her - lost, hidden and fragile; the part of her long buried - cries out for her to move. But she can't. Over five years' worth of exhaustion weighs her down. The relief, the victory, weighs her down. All too bitter and hardly a hint of sweet.

And the other part of her, the driving force, yells out as well. Righteous fury that she should get all this way just to die in a way she fought so hard to avoid. Put through hell, just to be put down at the end of it all. It feels like a sick joke. Like all of this was an elaborate, tragic set up just to be laughed upon.

Figures. Is all the rest of her can scrape up in response.

Accepting? Or just defeated? Perhaps both. Either way, the efforts of her survival instincts are quashed, and instead of getting back up on unsteady legs - instead of dragging herself up and out and to the hint of freedom she sought for so long - she fell to her side. Tiredly, her eyes drift to a nearby window, and even through the glaring light of the fire she can spot glimpses of stars.

Familiar, almost.

Instead of burning foundations, there's only trees. Instead of sickening heat, there's only a creeping chill. Snow bathed in blood and moonlight. Hope that was so close, yet lightyears away. Light, scattered and glittering, all within reach. And now all too consuming and overbearing.

She didn't want to die then. She doesn't want to die now. But life rarely seems to give her choices anymore.

Besides, she'd resigned herself to this a long time ago. The second she chose the path of revenge, she was well aware of the consequences, well aware that there was no going back. If Hatch was going down, she was too. Scales balanced, slate wiped clean. A fresh start that she could only hope would finally mark this small, violent cycle as finished. Forever. It means nothing in the grand scheme of things, but to her... it's everything.

Dark... Things are growing dark... Smoke, blood loss and exertion perfectly playing their parts in dragging her down. Her gaze falls to Hatch's body, surrounded by and covered in blood. Mostly his. A vision she only ever saw in daydreams, as fucked up as that sounded. The one thing she'd wanted for so long, and it finally happened, To her horror, a tear catches her off guard, slipping and falling onto the floor below, the noise of it easily drowned out by everything else.

There was once a time where she looked up to him with nothing but admiration and respect. After that, a time where she looked up at him with nothing but fear and confusion. And for the last five years, she's glared down at his image with nothing but hatred. In the last moments, there was fear and anger. From both of them.

Even now, confusion, betrayal and despair rushes through her veins, soaking red patterns of - of all things - regret into her clothes. One tear becomes two, then three, then four, and then she openly sobs, curling in on herself, even as her injuries protest, even as her lungs protest. She's shaking ucontrollably, the cause hard to pin down to just one thing, but she knows one of them is frustration.

It's all crashing down on her. This is what she wanted. This is what she dedicated herself to for so long. Why the fuck was she crying?

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry---

She doesn't know what she's apologising for, or who she's apologising to. To all the Orcas she failed? To the person she thought Hatch was all those years ago, before he proved himself a traitor? To the Ghosts and her own damned team that she pushed away, used as a means to an end?

Perhaps all of the above. And perhaps, it's also to herself. To the version of her that was lost to her obsessive vengeance. To the version of her that she'll lose now. Because under all the brutality, there's still faint traces of her, lost and frail; a broken bird singing and singing and singing its sorrows to an absent audience, wasting precious breath on a call that none will answer. That none can answer.

Only, birds aren't often victims of themselves.

She caused this. She'd wanted this. And now all that was left was to face the consequences. There's no turning back now, there hasn't been for a long time.

Weightlessness. Noise.

Unwillingly (and yet all too willingly) her eyes close, and she accepts her fate.

The grace of cool air, not biting or burning, but gentle. It reminds her of the ocean. It reminds her of home and the other things she no longer has. Painful comfort. Fitting that, even in death, anything soothing must also sting. It's a familiar push and pull, a tide of relief lapping at a shore of agony, and with every brush against the sand, the water reaches further, washing gently over with soft whispers that recede, only to return a few moments later. Despite everything it's comforting, and it's a welcome feeling to die to, much better than the idea of being utterly consumed by vengeful, fated flames.

By some miracle (if it can even be called that) they managed to recover the body. A gruesome mess, they'd said. Hardly identifiable as a person at first glance. Not surprising, given how badly the fire had eaten away at the building. At the very least, the confirmed death was, if anything, reassuring. Means whole thing wasn't entirely in vain. Means Mouse's years of suffering weren't in vain.

Home. Safety. At long last, she can return to a place that has always been impossible to reach. A place that doesn't exist in the first place.

With a sigh, Logan sits on the side of his bed, idly toying with a piece of paper in his hands. But it's more than just a piece of paper. It was a letter. One that he'd found on his bed after they'd gotten back from the whole.. Hatch thing. Just like then, he unfolded it, quickly grazing over the pages.

Mouse's writing is a lot like her: a rough, sharp scrawl that, at first, seems a task to even begin to understand, but when you take the time to look carefully... It's actually not all that difficult to decipher.

"Logan,

Y'know, I used to be pretty alright with words. Back in school teachers claimed I had a "romantic" way with them, if you can believe it. Bet that seems pretty far fetched, considering the way I am now. I doubt I have such a skill anymore, been out of practice for a long while, and it's not like I had anyone or anything to dedicate the words to anyway.

That sounds pathetic. Sorry.

I'm writing this to say Thanks, for everything. I've not been the best version of myself for a long time, and god knows I don't make it easy for others to put up with me. In all honesty, it's kind of on purpose. Actually, it's entirely on purpose. After the Orcas, I didn't see the need in forming any kind of relationships past acquaintances. Not like I had any room in my head or my heart for that kind of shit. Despite that, some of you definitely slipped past that restriction, as much as I hate to admit it. That's not to say that I hate you. I don't think I could ever truly hate any of you. If there's anyone to blame, it'd be me, I know better than to be so fucking careless.

I hadn't felt love in a long time, but in the short time we knew each other, I did. I felt... Well, perhaps "loved" is too strong a word. Moreso known. Seen. Up until now, even the mere thought of that was terrifying. I don't want others to see me. At least, not for who I am: A coward and a joke who can't seem to do much but fail over and over again. But you did see it. And despite all of it, you showed me acceptance, even though I don't deserve as much.

I'm not a good person, Walker. I suppose none of us are, really, but it's easier to forgive others than to forgive yourself, I think. With a couple exceptions, of course. Either way, you didn't hate me for that either, or at least I don't think you did.

I hope you don't hate me now. I'm doing what I need to do. For myself, the Orcas and everyone around me. Consider it a last favour, yeah? Getting out of everyone's hair, so to speak. Ending something that should have been ended over half a decade ago. I always knew it would come to this. At one point, it would have scared me. At one point I would have also been scared of how resigned I am to the whole idea, but I've come to accept it now. This is just how things have to be. A part of me wants to be sorry, but that makes it sound like it was my choice. It is, but it isn't. Not entirely.

Funnily enough, I think I've become more scared of the other outcome. The one that, surely, does not exist outside the realm of hopeful thoughts and dreams. Been so focused on this goal that I can't see anything after it. I've never feared uncertainty as much I do when I think about coming out of all of this alive.

I don't want to die. But I'm also too much of a coward to live.

In that case, it does seem like a choice. But in the end, I don't think I'll be the one making it.

I think you'll understand. You're smart enough.

This is getting long. Suppose this was more of a therapy session than a thank you note. Sorry about that.

Thank you, Logan. For letting me experience this feeling before I go. For making an effort that you certainly never needed to make. I appreciate it. Truly. Probably could've done without this last kick of grief, though. Whoever said you can't grieve for something you never had was a fucking liar.

I'm sorry it had to be like this. Better luck next time, I guess. If there is a next time. Haven't given that much thought, either. Maybe uncertainty scares me more than I thought. Fancy that, learning new things about myself just before the end. Life never stops teaching you shit, I guess.

Take care of yourself, Doe-eyes. Thanks again, for everything. You did more for me than you know.

- Mouse"

He spends a little while staring at it, reflecting, before sighing and folding it back up in order to stash it somewhere safe again. Mouse... Peculiar, is probably how he'd describe her. A mix of... a lot of things, few of which he'd say are inherently bad. Definitely not deserving of the hatred she had for herself, but it's not like he could really talk, knowing that particular pattern of thought all too well.

It's easier to forgive others than to forgive yourself, I think. Logan can't help but agree. Still, behind all that tactless attitude lay a person who's not nearly as abrasive as she makes herself out to be. Someone whose definitely a lot more gentle than she'd ever let on. Kind of sad, all things considered.

A knock on his door snaps him out of his thoughts. He hesitates a little, making sure the letter is properly hidden before he's opening the door, gaze dropping down to meet now-familiar blue eyes.

Speak of the devil and she shall appear.

"Couple of the others wanna spar. You coming?" Mouse wastes no time with her words, looking up at him rather expectantly.

"Weren't you told to avoid 'strenuous activity'?" Logan leans on the doorframe, raising one eyebrow. She scoffs and rolls her eyes.

"What they don't know won't hurt them."

"But it could hurt you."

"Aww, that's cute," She cooes, immediately smirking afterwards as she steps closer, leering up at him. "Startin' to think you care about me, Walker." Trust her to deflect like this. He doesn't take the bait this time though, and instead fixes her with a more sincere gaze.

"I do care about you." That catches her off guard, if the way she suddenly blanks is any indication. There's a sudden tension, thick and heavy and in a moment of impulse to try and break it, he huffs and pulls her into a hug; arms wrapping around her almost protectively.

Some silent moments pass between them, until Mouse gives simple chuckle as she pat his shoulder. For once, she seems a little lost for words. "Not so bad yoursel', I suppose."

"You suppose?" Logan pulls back a little to glare with mock-offense. Mouse tilts her head and grins.

"'S'at bother you?"

"Uncertainty scares me, I guess."

"Aaalright." Dragging out the word, she pushes away lightly and turns. It's not exactly distressed, but it's definitely a firm shift in topic. A quiet 'you've made your point' before she continues speaking. "'m still going, though. Not every day I get to see Foghorn kick yer brother's ass."

"As if." It's Logan's turn to scoff, "That giraffe of yours has nothing on Hesh."

"Guess we'll just 'ave to wait and find out." That sounds like a bet waiting to happen. Or some sort of challenge. "By the way," she turns on her heel, facing him again, "If you do come, consider changing the hoodie. Don't want people getting the wrong idea now, do we?" She pulls on the fabric of the hoodie he's wearing, and it's only now that he realises it's hers. He must've picked the wrong one up earlier. Shit. He flushes a little with embarrassment before trying to play it off, tugging her by the front of the hoodie she's wearing and giving her a mischievous grin.

"And what if I do want them to get the 'wrong idea'?"

"Y'playin' a veeery dangerous game, Doe-eyes. Highly suggest givin' up before you end up out yer depth."

"I'd never say no to a good challenge."

Mouse snorted at that, batting his hand away lightly and starting off down the hall.

"That's what your brother said about sparrin' with Fog." She snickers, "Don't be late. Whoever's right gets braggin' rights. Maybe even a kiss, who knows!"

Logan watches her go, probably looking a little too fond.

They'll talk about the letter. One day. For now, he's just happy she's still here.

And Mouse... She's found that maybe uncertainty is less terrifying when you're not alone.

She's pretty happy that she's still here, too.

#doot's mouse #logan walker #whumpril2023 #whumprilday23 #angst #hurt/comfort #blood #blood mention #grief #death and dying #murder #female whumpee #fire mention #happy ending #sort of #fun fact i posted this on the wrong day because i thought they were the prompts for the 21st #anyway here's mouse whump #let me know if I need to add more tags

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