Price was walking back and forth slowly in front of the team for formation that misty morning. He was updating everyone on the day's activities- explosives practice, running the serpentine course, and water survival training- and informing them that Alpha team had challenged them to a game of capture the flag, by which all of Bravo Team seemed quite enticed.

Except for you, apparently. Price noticed while everyone else was giving quiet statements of excitement, you were just standing there in the second row, a thousand-yard stare in your glassy eyes, surrounded by dark, sleepless circles and deep bags. He strode closer and looked over Roach's head in front of you. 

"'Ey, (Y/N)," he called somewhat irratably, quieting the rest of the men. "You staying awake back there?" You didn't respond and the muscles in his jaw worked. "I believe the proper response is, 'yes, sir,' isn't it?" The men responded with a quiet, concerned, "Yes, sir," as if on your behalf. You weren't usually disrespectful, but that didn't mean Price was above punishing you like you were.

You fought hard to shift your eyes to meet his, the last fatal mistake anyone should make with their Captain. As he squared his shoulders and started through the crowd, your legs buckled under you, and you could feel blood welling in your nose, mouth, and the corners of your eyes. Everything felt slow as you fell to the grass, and you barely felt the impact.

Price's eyes rounded and he shoved everyone aside. "Move, MOVE! (Y/N)!" He knelt down and looked over your face, and then looked around at the team. "Soap! Get a medic out here!" Though you could barely see through the red fluid in your eyes, you could clearly make out the concern on his face. "What the hell is happening..?" 

You awakened sometime later in the hospital to the quiet chirping of machines and the light "drip, drip, drip" of the IV hanging above your head. You sighed, knowing you should be feeling some kind of pain, even though the medications you were on prevented it. Something else felt off, but with the drowsiness you felt, you weren't sure what exactly it was.

You turned your head to see Price sitting in a chair beside your bed, holding your hand in his. He was asleep, resting his head on his hand supported by his knee. "... Price?" you croaked weakly. 

John lifted his head and looked at you, half relieved, yet also horribly worried and weary. He didn't say a word for a long while, and you were confused. Why wasn't he speaking? More than that, why was he there? Shouldn't he be out leading the team? Didn't he have a schedule to oversee? 

"You're awake," he said at long last. "How are you feeling?" 

"Tired... Really weak..." you said. "But I'm okay otherwise... I finally got some sleep." You chuckled, rubbing your forehead. 

Price was very still. "... When were you going to tell me you're sick?" 

Damn. "I wasn't..." you said hesitantly.

"You weren't going to tell me you have Batme? You were just going to keep going until, what, you don't show up one day and leave all of us wondering what the hell happened to you?" he asked, voice more tense and aggravated. 

You looked down. "No, sir... Well, actually... Yeah, kind of."

His face contorted in anger. "... Why?!" he barked. "Why would you do that to us?!"

"I didn't want you to worry..."

"They're calling this the 'new cancer;' I'll worry about you if I damn well please! I'm well within my right to worry."

You closed your eyes. "But it wouldn't change that I'm d-"

"Don't," he growled. "Do not finish that sentence."

Your eyes rolled up to meet his. "Why not? It's true, isn't it?"

A pained expression settled on his face. "You're not-"

"Tell me, Price, do you know how many people are dying of Batme?" you asked.

"You're not going to die; you're too strong for that. Don't let a stupid disease be the thing that takes you down," he said, force suddenly steady and commanding, as if he was giving you an order. 

You swallowed hard and nodded. "Yes, sir. I'll do my best."

He dipped his head, and silently stood and left the room. The moment the door closed behind him and he found himself alone, he leaned back against the wall, both of his hands on his head as he struggled to take a full, even breath. John was gasping for air, yet he felt as though he couldn't breathe and his legs felt like they would break under him. Slowly, he slid to the floor, finally feeling the hitch in his breath turn to quiet sobs. No. You couldn't be dying. That didn't happen to people he knew, let alone people he cared about. It just didn't. It couldn't.

Not to you.

The weeks passed, and he continued to come back and see you almost daily. He had become much more gentle than before, and somehow, just his arrival each day gave you hope, something to look forward to. He even occasionally brought flowers and books, things to bring you comfort in your stay at the hospital.

But then came the night that you knew truly marked the end. A terrible fever set upon you, and in the midst of it, you hallucinated from the heat in your head, seeing doctors approach you with various needles and vials, injecting acidic, toxic substances into your veins. You were convinced that you had been poisoned; you could feel painful contracting in your stomach, rashes forming on your skin, and your muscles convulsing, agonizingly tense. 

It was when you began to wake up, and live another horror, ending in the same painful cramping, rashes, and seizures, that you were convinced you were never truly waking up. God, is this what being in a coma was like? Did you just have continual nightmares for the rest of your life until they finally put you out of your misery?

When you were truly awake, you were not convinced, and you refused to let anyone touch you. You hadn't seen Price in... How long had it been? Hours? Days? Weeks? Longer? You shrieked and flailed, trying to keep the doctors away from you- you weren't about to let them poison you again! But after one particular fight, a doctor had managed to restrain you and stick a needle into your arm, and before long, you were immobile. Oh, God... This was it, wasn't it? You were dying...

You awakened sometime later, your head cool again and feeling more lucid, but the rash and painful sensation in your stomach remained. John was sitting beside you again, his hand on your head. "John..? Am I awake?"

He tried to smile. "Yeah, (Y/N), you're awake." Though he was trying hard to keep himself composed, you could see tears forming in his eyes. "Sounds like you've had a rough couple of days," he said.

You nodded. "Yeah..." You sighed. "I guess more of that was real than I thought, huh..?"

He knelt beside you, and rest his head on your belly, keeping his eyes closed. "I'll bet it felt like a bad fever dream."

"It did..." You gingerly laid a hand on his head. "John..?" When he looked up at you, you heaved in a deep breath. "I think we need to start saying our goodbyes."

John lifted his head abruptly, his eyes wide. "No. You're not dying. The doctors said women aren't as likely to die from this; you'll bounce back."

"John, I'm not bouncing back from this..." you said, oddly calm. "I've progressed through all of the other symptoms; the only thing left after this is organ failure and death. This is the final stage of the sickness."

"No, you can't... You're not..." He shook his head, and buried his face in your soft belly again, unnervingly still before heaving in a deep, trembling sob. "Please, you can't go..." he cried.

You felt a lump forming in the back of your throat. "I don't want to go, either..."

He was very quiet, and then he whispered, "I love you, (Y/N)."

"I love you, too, John." You gently guided him up to you and hugged him with all the strength you could manage.

A few more weeks passed, and you had started to feel a little better, in spite of the anxiety that any day could be your last. Ever since John had admitted that he loved you, something between you two had felt freer, like there had been a barrier before that had now been taken down. Every time he came to visit you, he would kiss his fingertips and place them on your cheeks, eyes, or forehead, and every time he left, he would remind you that he loved you. You relished it, though it was a little dismaying that it took you hanging on to life by a thread for it to happen.

The weeks turned to months, and Price had finally made up his mind. It had been a few days since he could see you- he had some arrangements to make- but he finally had everything together, and arrived at the hospital. Maybe this choice would eventually result in hurt, but if you could both enjoy it in the meantime, it was worth it. He tucked a little, velvet box into his pocket, and stepped out of the car.

He tipped his head to the nurse at the front desk as he walked by, but didn't notice her do a double-take and reach out to stop him. John walked down the hall, turned the corner and came to your room... Why was the door open?

... Why was the bed empty?

John took a step back. The machines were silent. The bed was made. The chart was blank.

You were gone.

He touched the wall, and felt as if he'd turned to stone. He couldn't move, he couldn't speak; he couldn't breathe. How long had you been gone? It couldn't have been long, no one had called him... Unless he'd missed the call? He hesitantly took his cellphone out of his pocket and felt his stomach turn upside down at a missed call from the hospital. "Oh, God..." he whimpered. 

"Captain Price?" The doctor came down the hall and saw him standing there against the wall. "Are you here looking for (Y/N)?"

He looked confused and lost. "Y-yes... I missed your call, when did she-?"

"She checked out an hour ago; she's in the cafeteria on the first floor. I think she's still waiting for you."

John's legs almost fell out from under him. "She... She's alive?"

The doctor's brow furrowed. "Did you think she'd passed away?"

"Well... What happened? I mean, I know she was feeling a little better, but..?"

The doctor shrugged. "She went into remission. The last few days, we've been monitoring her, and we've run multiple tests; she's fine."

He breathed out a heavy sigh, followed by a relieved laugh. "Oh my God... You said she's down on the first floor?"

"She is."

John shook the doctor's hand and ran down the hall and back down the stairs to the lobby. "(Y/N)?" he called.

You were just walking out to the lobby when you heard him call for you. "There you are!" you called. "What the hell? I haven't seen or heard from you in days; I kind of thought you weren't coming..."

He silenced you with a kiss, wrapping you tightly in his arms. "Sorry, I had some plans, I didn't end up having a lot of time." He breathed a deep sigh and smiled. "I'm so happy you're alright."

"Of course I am; the nurse called you to tell you that," you chuckled.

John pulled away and reached into his pocket. "I know, the doctor said something about that. I kind of missed it while I was getting myself ready."

"What had you so distracted you missed a phone call?" he retorted, your usual sassy, playful smile on your mouth. 

"This." He held up the box and popped the lid open with his thumb. 

You gaped at the sight of a flashing diamond contrasting the dark color of the box. "John, tell me you're not teasing me..."

"I'm not."

You smiled and hugged him again, too happy and overwhelmed to speak. You nodded, and with all the effort you could manage, you whispered,

"Yes."

---

Batme (Bah't-mae): manifests as insomnia, fatigue, muscle weakness, anemia, internal hemorrhaging, paranoia, hallucinations, fever, headaches, insanity, erratic behavior, seizures, hypersensitivity (allergic reactions, sometimes to one's own body) and eventually total organ failure and death. Women diagnosed with Batme may develop ovarian cysts, though infertility is uncommon. Men are more likely to become infertile from the disease, and, though less likely to develop the disease, are more likely to die from it than women. Thought to be a genetic disease that attacks the X chromosome, inadvertently lab-created by Ultranationalist scientists trying to create an instantaneously-fatal bioweapon, but instead resulted in a more slowly-moving (yet still fast-killing,) scary disease.

DO NOT STEAL.