A Living Shield (John Price x OC/Reader slowburn)

39) Plummeting Adrenaline

One more. If one more person starts small talk with me, I'm jumping without a chute.

What would you achieve if you got stuck with a massive group of male soldiers, deployed in a cramped dropship?

A massive headache was the answer.

It had built exponentially in the first half hour, right before you couldn't take it anymore and your hands had dug deep in your pockets. A desperate search for the cheap earphones you snuck with you on missions every now and then. Better to lose or break these than your actual good ones. It wasn't really allowed, mostly because it distracted you from listening to commands. That and the last time you used them you were so absorbed in your music that you'd continued listening all the way into a gun fight, providing a blood-rushing soundtrack as you stormed into enemies. Effective? Absolutely. Terrifying and dangerous? Unfortunately, at least from the perspective of your teammates. They'd been shouting at you in slight panic, seeing you plow down everything in your path as if you were the main character of a DOOM game. Price had tried reprimanding you after, especially considering your recently increasing ballsy behaviour, but you'd just nodded and 'yes sir'-ed it away. Much to his annoyance.

So yeah, earphones were definitely considered a distraction from important matters but right now what mattered most was your sanity, and the screaming that blasted in your ears, louder than any of the voices around, was a welcome reprieve. Metal was often anything from calm, but it relaxed you more than the company you found yourself in. You'd taken seat a little more away from the 141 when you boarded, sitting in the opposite lane. Still facing them, yet clearly not at their side. It wasn't necessarily a choice you had made too consciously, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't do it to avoid sitting too close to Price. Stubbornly evading any eye contact you could possibly make. Right now his proximity was just too much, too heavy for the feeling in your chest, and you needed space and time. Not entirely sure how much of it you'd really need, if any amount of either would ever actually help. A thought you refused to mull on.

Your boot tapped along to a rather fast paced song as your eyes swam across the countless people surrounding you. It wasn't really with any intention in mind, just scanning, barely registering faces. You took note of the conversation happening between Nestor and Soap. They seemed to be animated in their talk, a certain mischief lining each of their grins that honestly made you wish you could lip read. Or maybe not, who knew what god awful topic made them smile like that. Naturally, begrudgingly even, your eye scoured towards your captain by default, watching as he sat absent-mindedly. Face reserved, clear eyes fixated on an unknown spot. Lost in thought it seemed. Though he surprisingly caught on to you fast, because the gaze slid your way, betraying nothing as he stared back unblinking. An eyebrow raising in question. You could almost hear it.

'You want something, sergeant?'

Piss off. Do you ever lose your god damn nerve?

Raising your chin a little in defiance, you turned your eyes as monotone as you could. Lifeless in a way, before you blinked and looked away. Price didn't deserve your attention. And you didn't need his. Something you had to manually remind yourself of at times, because you seemed to forget it more than you were caring to admit.

You repositioned your arse a little, scooting left and right to gain some feeling back. The hard cushions, if you could even call them that, never sat particularly comfortable in cargoplanes. Hell you were pretty sure the filling of the seat was so old it crumbled underneath you, like a stale old spongecake that looked like it violated all health codes. Either way, you did your best to get through the numb, dragging hours. Zoning out really while you tried enjoying the little peace and quiet you had left before this mission really took off.