DISCLAIMER: The author of this writing does not own Call of Duty or any affiliated trademarks. This work is a fan-created non-profit writing, and the author has recieved no compensation, monetary or otherwise, from its creation or distribution.

Alright, my waiting period is over, so here I go! Hi, I'm The Nerd Who Wrote, and welcome to my first fanfic on ! This will be an AU story based around a question that I highly doubt I was the first to ask, but do believe I was the first to get a writing of it on. Namely, that question is: What if Soap and Price had gone to the safehouse instead of Ghost and Roach? This will be at least four chapters long, covering the last four levels of Modern Warfare 2, and if I get enough positive attention, I might go into Modern Warfare 3 as well. Standard RoE for R engage on sight. Also, please not that this story will NOT include Roach/Ghost slash. Those of you looking up M-rated Friendship Ghost/Roach looking for lemons may press the back button now. But with that out of the way, Let's get started!

The war room was dimly lit, the only light emanating from the massive screen on the wall, which was in the middle of displaying the status of the battle on the eastern seaboard of the United States. The picture was still ugly, but it was a hell of a lot better than it had looked 24 hours ago. Seated at the conference table that dominated the room were the lead members of Task Force 141, and General Sheperd himself in the commanding position at the head of the table. Sheperd removed a cigar and a lighter from his uniform pouch, lit it, puffed thoughtfully, and looked over the men assembled before him.

"It's been a tough week, gentlemen. We've lost more than we ever dreamed." He began as the screen zoomed out and started heading West, stopping to pass over the oilrigs, gulag, and submarine base in eastern Russia. "But we will recover. I've got a blank check. And we're gonna use every cent of it killin' Makarov. Despite what the world may say, we are not savages, we don't kill civilians. We use precision. There's an evil man hiding in these shadows and we're gonna bring him into the light. Once his face is revealed, we will write history, gentlemen."

The room remained quiet as the camera came to a stop over the Caucasus Mountains and a US Army vehicle disposal yard in Afghanistan. "These are the last safe havens left on Earth for Makarov and his men."

"Sounds like we gotta be in two places at once." Said Captain Price, breaking the 141's silence.

"Impossible?" Sheperd asked.

"Not for the One-Four-One." Was Price's simple, confident answer.

Ghost spoke next; "Fifty-fifty chance to take out Makarov, eh? Captain Price, request permission to take the boneyard with Roach."

"Granted. Soap and I will take the safehouse in Russia."

Sheperd nodded; "Very well. We will cut off all avenues of escape. This ends now."

"Strange," Price remarked, "I could have sworn we ended this war yesterday."

There were nods all around.

["Loose Ends"]

[Day 6 - 15:36:11]

[Cpt. John "Soap" McTavish]

[Task Force 141]

[Georgian-Russian Border]

No breeze disturbed the trees as the 141 strike force moved through the woods, heading towards the house that stood in a clearing nearby.

"Snipers in position." Soap heard over his radio. That was Archer, one of the best riflemen in the 141. No, THE best, which was why he was on this mission.

"Roger," Price responded, "mission is a go. Engage Makarov on sight." Various affirmations came over the channel.

"Alright, move."

They set off into the woods, not traveling far before they came across a grassy, open area. They rushed into it, attempting to cross as quickly as possible. That idea came to a screeching halt as dirt erupted around Soap's feet. Everything went into slow motion as he saw what could only be a "bouncing betty" mine launch itself into the air before him. Somewhere off in the distance, he heard Captain Price screaming "Ambush!", but nothing mattered to him right then but the airborne explosive right before him. Then his instincts and training took hold, and he dove to the ground just as the mine detonated. His vision went black-and-white, and his ears were filled with an incessant screeching, but he was alive.

Of course, that was when Makarov's men decided to show up and remedy that. He saw movement on the rocks to his left, and turned just in time to see an RPG fly away from one of the mercenaries, and blow a 141 soldier nearly in half. Brining his M4A1 up, Soap fired madly into the enemy, dropping foe after foe in a blind rage. His hearing came back, at least to the point where he could hear the gunfire, and was just in time to hear the distinctive screech of a mortar shell.

"Moartar fire!" Price yelled, sounding somehow... calm in the midst of the chaos, "Get into the trees!"

John stood up, and began rushing the treeline, when the enemy began popping smoke grenades, creating yet another obstacle.

"Push through! Push through!"

John ran, charging through the smoke, and engaging the scattered foes on the other side of it. A few tree stumps and some solar panels proved to be little protection from the incoming hail of bullets.

With the sudden lull in the fighting, Soap took a look around to size up the situation. That was when he noticed that the group now consisted of himself, Price, Scarecrow, and Ozone. He cursed; in the space of less than a minute, Makarov had crippled the entire operation. How the hell had he known that they were coming?

His musings were interrupted by Archer's voice, saying "We got two trucks leaving the target building."

"Stop 'em." Came Price's ice-cold reply.

"Roger! Firing Javelin, danger close!"

Two streaks of flame launched up into the sky alongside Archer's statement of "Two away!" and arced back down into the trucks, ending their flight in a pair of fireballs. "Moving vehicles have been neutralized. Be advised, we have not, I repeat, we have not spotted Makarov, and no one else has left the house. Those trucks may have been decoys. Over."

"Roger that," answered Price, "we're advancing on the house now! Clear the perimeter! Breach and clear the safehouse! Go!"

A few guards were found waiting out front of the house, and were quickly dealt with. Soap rushed up to the front door and placed the square charge onto the wood timbers. Price fell in on the other side of the door, and John pressed the detonator.

The door exploded inwards, and Soap and Price entered with guns blazing. Ten seconds later, the ground floor was clear.

"Office clear!" Called Price, "Ozone, make sure no one leaves through the kitchen."

"Roger that."

"Scarecrow, gimme a sitrep."

"No one's leaving through the front of the basement."

"Dining room clear! Soap, get upstairs and clear the top floor"

Soap rushed upstairs, dropping a few soldiers who were waiting in corners. One door on the top floor was locked, and be destroyed it in the same fashion as the one at the front of the house, and gunning down the two men inside.

"Top floor clear!" Soap called down to the Captain.

"Roger, now get down to the basement and clear out any remaining hostiles."

Soap sprinted down the stairs with Scarecrow on his six, killing the few soldiers at the end of the basement hallway. They moved up to the first door, blew it in, and after they eliminated the men inside, found a well-stocked armory, boasting all kind of wonderful goodies for your terrorist ringleader. They then moved to the other door, blew it, and cleared what turned out to be the garage.

"Basement clear!" Scarecrow called over the radio.

"Roger, now get back up here. Scarecrow, photographs."

"Roger that."

Soap met up with price in the front room as he made a report to Sheperd. "Sheperd, this is Price. Makarov is not here. I repeat Makarov is not at the safehouse. Ghost, any luck in Afghanistan?"

"Plenty," Ghost replied from hundreds of miles away, "fifty plus armed guards. Still no sign of Makarov, though. Did intel have a bad day?"

"They'll be having one hell of a day when we get back, this safehouse is a gold mine."

"Copy that." Sheperd said, rejoining the conversation, "Captain, have your team collect everything you can for an operations playbook. Names, contacts, places, everything."

"Already on it. We're gonna get this bastard."

"That's the idea. I'm bringing up the extraction force, E.T.A. five minutes. Get that intel. Shepherd out."

"Alright, Soap, get on Makarov's computer and get the DSM online. Ozone, you've got rear security, I'm on the front.

"On my way."

Soap began bringing the DSM online and hooking it to Makarov's computer when Ghost came back on the comm.

"Task Force, this is Ghost. More of Makarov's men just showed up at the boneyard. Roach, cover me. I'm gonna get that guy's radio and tap their comms. Captain, we're going silent for a while. Good luck up there. Ghost out."

Ozone spoke next, "Captain, there's an armory in the basement. Better stock up while we can."

Price nodded, "Makarov's men are going to do whatever it takes to keep us from leaving with this. We need to protect the DSM at all costs. Grab anything you need and set up defensive positions. Move."

Soap rushed to the basement, remembering that he had seen a barret down there. He grabbed the huge sniper rifle and made his way to the top floor. A few explosions announced that their respite was over.

"What the hell was that?" Scarecrow asked.

"Be advised," Came Archer's voice, "you have a large concentration of hostiles moving in from the southeast, they've just breached the perimeter! I'll try to thin 'em out before they get too close. Recommend you switch to scoped weapons, over."

"Roger," Price replied, "Everyone move to engage hostiles in the southeast field."

They rushed to the appropriate end of the house, and began laying down fire at the soldiers who rushed the house, mowing them down mercilessly. The minutes passed in a blur. Aim, shoot, reload, repeat. Archer swapped locations, Ozone was killed, Scarecrow followed suit shortly thereafter, and Soap was lost in his endless slaughter of the oncoming troops.

Finally, the transfer ended. John rushed to the computer and unplugged the DSM, before firing an M4 magazine into the computer tower, utterly destroying it.

The radio crackled to life, "This is Shepherd. We're almost at the LZ. What's your status, over?"

"We're moving to the LZ!" Price called back, "Soap, let's go!"

They charged through the trees, gunning down everything that moved in their fury to get the hell out of Dodge. They made it to the treeline easily enough, and then the mortars returned.

"Incoming! Run, Run!" Price hollered at John, who sprinted all-out for the LZ. And that was when a mortar round landed nearly on top of him.

In that moment, Soap stopped caring at all about the mission. All that mattered was how much he FUCKING HURT. It was worse than when the truck had exploded beside him on that bridge, if it was possible for something to hurt worse than that. He lay there, everything black, and he knew he was going to die.

Then he felt somebody grab him, and his vision began to come back, revealing Captain Price saving his sorry ass for the, what was it, fifth time? Price was saying something, but his ears were ringing too hard to tell what. He looked up in time to see the treeline explode with rocket detonations, and a little bird helicopter flew past him, strafing the trees mercilessly. His hearing recovered enough for him to hear Price yell "Hang on, Soap!" That proved to be difficult. He was hurting everywhere, his vision fading in and out. Then he felt Price lift him to his feet. "Come on, we're here. It's over."

The words filled John with calm, and he opened his eyes again, revealing General Sheperd walking down the ramp of a pave low helicopter. "Do you have the DSM?" he asked, hustling forward and taking Soap by the other arm.

Too pained for words, John merely nodded.

"Good." Sheperd replied, "That's one less loose end."

Soap saw Sheperd's right hand move for his gun belt. He tried to shout a warning, but his mouth failed to respond. Then the massive .44 Magnum cartridge tore through his gut, forcing him to the ground. And somehow, that hurt worse than all the mortar shrapnel combined. Maybe the agony of being betrayed made it hurt all the more.

"SOAP!" Price roared as he reached for the Colt .45 at his thigh. Price was a fast draw, but Sheperd had the advantage of already having a weapon in hand. Price had the gun halfway up when Sheperd's second shot tore into Price, hurling him to the ground.

Sheperd holstered his weapon and walked towards Soap. He crouched down beside the bloody form and removed the DSM from his vest before signaling to a pair of soldiers in US Army gear. His vision faded out again, and came back into focus as they hurled him into a small ditch. Hitting the ground didn't hurt; he already had plenty of pain running all through him. The shrapnel, the bullet, the betrayal, but now, most of all, seeing Captain John Price, the man he admired, idolized, being tossed aside like him. Price landed facing him, still conscious, but unable to really move. He coughed up blood, and John saw the hole in his chest, positioned over his lung. Then, as if the world wanted the pain to sink in even more, the radio came to life, and Ghost's frantic voice came over the airwaves.

"Captain! Come in, this is Ghost! We're under attack by Shepherd's men at the boneyard! Roach, watch the flank! Do not trust Shepherd! I say again, do not trust Shepherd! Roach, get down!"

Then one last soldier marched up to the duo, a jerry can in his hands, and poured gasoline onto them. That hurt, all his wounds stinging as the fluid entered them. Then Sheperd walked forward, a cigar in his hands. John looked back at his mentor, who smiled weakly, as if to say "We had a good run, didn't we?" Soap nodded as best as he could, and extended his hand to his friend. Price reached out and took the hand, locking their thumbs around each other, their fingers wrapping around the back of each other's hand. Then he saw the cigar falling between them. It struck the wet ground just beneath their hands.

And the flames leapt up around them.