Wrapped in silence, you watched from afar as a unit of unidentifiable people rushed into the camp, took the hostage from the cell and packed her into the helicopter within minutes.

You knew that this was only the beginning of a long, painful, and most likely, deadly way for her.

But despite being aware of the methods of the United States with terrorists or traitors, Laswell had insisted on taking her back.

That only left room for two possibilities.

Option one, she knew about the issue, that the terrorist group wasn't consisting of some mad third world citizens but fully armed and financially stable people, most likely from industrial nations, and she didn't tell you.

Option two was she only found out now and was so shocked that she needed to do the only right thing as a proper American and take the hostage back into the country until the White House came up with a solution to this problem.

Either way, whatever option it would turn out to be, it didn't involve you nor Price.

You two were basically useless, especially now that the colonel was also joining the US forces to provide them with the information he had refused to share.

Only thinking about this mess made you mad.

A low growl escaped you.

"I hear you.", Price suddenly said and took a deep breath before continuing. "And I agree. We should unarse it ourselves."

Now you had to huff.

"And how are we supposed to do that?", you asked with a grim expression. "If the States are involved, we need to bow to their rules. The NATO might consist of a lot of nations, but no one will disagree with the US. They hold the most military power."

He hummed, arms crossed in front of his chest.

"True. But this is not a NATO matter."

"How so? The hostage is American. I'd take a wild guess and say the rest of the ones we shot were too."

"And that's where you're wrong, captain."

Confused, you frowned.

"Hm?"

The passive aggressive smirk returned to his lips.

Wrinkles danced all over his face while his cheeks popped out and made him look as boyish as a man with a full beard and the size of a viking could be.

"You're wrong.", he repeated, audibly pleased to finally be able to say it. "I've checked the bodies."

"I thought the camp soldiers took them away?"

"They did."

Amused, you curled your lips.

"Damn, beanie, I didn't know you had some criminal energy in you. Did you sneak into the hall like on a mission impossible?"

Snorting, he broke the eye contact.

Maybe you were just imagining things, but you would have sold your soul to say that he looked flustered.

It wasn't a full red face or glowing cheeks, but the corners of his mouth were clearly tilted upwards in a soft smile.

He also didn't look at you which only made you think more that he was ashamed.

Or charmed.

You had to bite your tongue to not make a comment about it. This was a serious situation and it demanded from you to be a professional.

Taking a deep, very deep breath, you looked up to the sky, grinned to yourself and looked back down again.

"Anyways...", he cleared his throat. "I checked their patches."

"What idiot of a terrorist is carrying patches?", you snorted. "Isn't their main advantage that nobody knows who they are?"

He nodded.

"True. But they seem to take great pride in their origins."

"Origins? As in multiple?"

"Yes. They are mostly Americans, true. But I found some Europeans as well. Brits, French, Germans, to name a few."

All of a sudden your heart started to beat like crazy.

Unsure, your eyes jumped through the area, checking every single corner and shadow to make sure no one was watching or even worse, listening.

Only when you were entirely sure, you leaned into his direction and lowered your voice so that only he was able to hear at all.

"Look, I don't want to be a bitch, okay?", you whispered. "But even I wouldn't act without evidence. I might be an idiot, but I'm not brainless."

Letting out a deep breath, he let his eyes wandered up to the sky for a moment.

Then, slowly, one of his hands reached up to his forehead and wiped over it. While he did so, he managed to pull off his beanie in such a casual manner that nobody would have questioned it.

At first his move confused you. Your gaze jumped up, thinking it had something to do with his hair.

There was a hint of grey inside the brown. It was lighter than it used to be, less thick. But he still managed to pull of a decent haircut that suited him well, long at the top, short on the sides.

The greying parts, paired with the thick beard made him look older than he probably was.

But it didn't look bad.

In fact, the grey gave him some sort of maturity that you had failed to find in many men you've met before him.

Why did you think about this all of a sudden?

You weren't trying to date him.

If you were completely honest you weren't even trying to fuck him. You just liked to tease and see his reactions.

Somehow, seeing those little signs of annoyance on his face made you smile.

"Here.", he said and glanced at you from the corner of his bright blue eyes. "Take a look."

Torn from your thoughts, you blinked.

"Huh?", you asked with your mouth slightly open. "Sorry, what were we talking about?"

A low sound escaped his throat.

"The patches.", he reminded you.

"Right. What about them?"

"Take a look."

He shook his beanie, which he held wide open with both hands, so that it formed some sort of bowl. Inside the dark fabric shimmered about a dozen patches, each one from different militaries.

Without much effort, you noticed a german name, right next to a French one and an Italien.

But that wasn't the weirdest part.

The weirdest part was that all of those name tags, including patches for the ranks, were up to date or at best a few years old.

They were officially used markings to identify members of European and American militaries.

"What the fuck?", you chuckled.