A/N: First, I need to apologize for taking more than four or five months to update this. Almost half a year. I feel so bad. It's like, I always feel like I don't have the time with school and life when in reality I can actually make time for this. So again, I'm so sorry, thank you to everyone who's always been so patient and kind to me, and to those who've read this far!

This chapter is a whopping 6000+ words. That's a lot for me.

It takes a long time for you to realize that you're conscious. The pitch-black darkness and the deadly silence gives the illusion that you're still out, but for some reason your mind manages to piece together that you are, in fact, there. Awake. Aware.

Slowly, carefully opening your eyes, noticing they aren't as heavy as they were the last time you were conscious. The air is cool, the atmosphere is well-lit, the covers are warm. It's so peaceful. What woke you up?

Allowing your gaze to sweep across the room, you realize it's the infirmary.

Then you notice a blond-haired man sitting right next to your bed, face hidden in folded arms on a part of the mattress on your side. You regard him calmly, his tall figure slumped forward, his breathing slow and collected. His presence…must have woken you up.

"Roach?" Surprisingly, your voice is loud and clear, not weak and cracked as you expected it to be.

The blond props his head up and stares at you with wide, green eyes, before blinking and sitting up straight. He stretches back, giving you a few moments to admire the outline of his abs and pecs through his tight shirt, an outfit he usually wears for CQC, and the time he takes to yawn gives you just enough time for your blush and smug smile to fade away before he can make out you're staring.

"Private, you're awake," Roach mumbles, it's refreshing to hear his voice so sleepy and raspy. Rubbing his eyes, he gives you a tired smile. "How are you doing?"

"I feel fine," you reply, falling silent for a while, taking a moment to process what you really feel. Finally, an honest answer: "I feel relaxed and kinda energetic. What happened to me, by the way?"

Roach frowns. "I was about to ask you that. Captain found you passed out a bit down the hall of his office, and I mean out cold. Doc isn't here, he went back home to his family for the week's holiday. He should be back tomorrow."

"Who treated me?"

The frown deepened, now it is not of confusion, it leans more towards discomfort and reluctance. "Ghost did, he's a sort-of medic. He didn't actually give you any medicine, he just said he couldn't understand what could've happened to you and simply concluded you passed out."

"Okay," you nod slowly, comprehending what he said perfectly but trying to process the hidden meaning behind how he said Ghost's callsign and how he spoke of the superior. Arching a brow, you give him a once over, partly to show you're suspicious of him, but mostly to check him out again. "What are you doing here?"

"Keeping you company," Roach replies, one edge of his lips curving up into a small, friendly smile. "Plus, with you suddenly passing out, and no medicine given or anything, you think I'd leave you alone here? If anything happened I'd be right here to get help."

"That's kind of you," you smile, lips parting slightly to show a bit of perfect, shiny teeth. Despite the warmth in your chest you know that's only a quarter of the reason why he's here. There's more to this than he's willing to tell.

Roach shrugged. "No problem."

"What's General Shepherd been doing?"

"Bugging the Captain all day. Some shit about how we should start readying to be into action the minute this week ends and you go home, how we got some missions and crap like that." Roach sighed heavily. "As much as I love what I do, I hope you don't ever leave. With you in the base, it's almost like how I imagine college might've been like."

You laugh, wagging your head. Roach offers a chuckle of his own.

"How long have I been out?" The question automatically slips out without you having to process it first, and a worry settles the second those words leave your mouth. True, how long have you been out? Precious, precious time…

"About half a day," Roach replies, and you're unsure whether to feel relieved it wasn't an entire day, or upset that you've wasted close to twelve hours.

"And you were here that whole time?"

"Well…yeah, except whenever I had to go to the restroom, or wash my face. I was gonna go training just now but—" he stops abruptly, and oh, so that's why he's wearing those clothes, "I—uh, bring my food here, and, ahaha forgot I brought some for you, too, it's probably cold now, though…"

"It's fine, Roach," you wave it off, more interested to know what made him change his mind about training.

"Sat here for the most part, watching you sleep and listening to you breathe. It's nice and quiet. I don't know how you could've passed out like that."

"I don't know either… it must've been exhaustion…or the immense worry," you mutter, sighing silently as your head falls to the other side. Roach looks at you, puzzled, and you put a hand on his arm and eye him suspiciously. "Seriously, Roach. Why are you here?"

The sergeant raises both his brows and sputters, "I already—"

"I'm only one of the reasons, a pretty minor one, and more of an excuse, I dare say."

He remains silent, a firm look of determination in his eyes as he tries to look like he's got nothing to hide, but behind that mask you see a hint of uncertainty.

"I know everything, Roach," you say calmly, assuringly. Surprise and recognition flashes across his face as he gets a hint of what you're meaning. Then, cautiously: "You're here just to avoid Ghost, isn't it?"

Silence.

"How did you know?" he finally asks, looking down at the mattress, chewing his lower lip.

"I saw and heard everything, it happened right out my window. Beautiful quarter-full moon, too." As if the light-hearted comment would do anything to lift the mood of the conversation.

Roach's eyes wandered before they meet with yours again, and he stutters, a string of incomplete, incomprehensible words that come straight out from a mind with scrambled thoughts. Finally, Roach just wipes his face and rubs his temples, sighing. "I'm an adult, for fuck's sake, but I feel like a thirteen-year-old."

"Do you like him, Roach?"

The question was blunt and straightforward, and had it not been, you get a feeling Roach would have just glared. However, he stares, and for a moment you pity how tired and confused he looks, before he answers heavily:

"I would give my life for that man."

Unsure of what to say, you remain silent, giving assuring silence instead. Taking this as a good sign, Roach sighs and hides his face in his hands, muttering, "But, the captain…"

"Only has lust for you," you finish for him. He looks up, and from his expression it's obvious he isn't surprised by that bit of information. "Listen, Roach, if you ask me," you put a hand on his arm, squeezing it assuringly, "you better go make it up to Ghost. Before it's too late."

"How? If I'm not the first to turn away and walk the opposite direction, he'd do it first. Sometimes I only catch a glimpse of him before he disappears. And, to be honest, I don't think Shepherd would be holding any damn meeting that'll force us to be in the same room where I can apologize."

A few minutes pass by in complete silence. You brainstorm, wondering how to get around the problem—force Ghost and Roach into the same room and get them privacy at the same time. It was already about nine or ten at night and within a couple of hours it'll already be your last day with the task force…

"I have an idea," you grin, eyes sparkling. "I feel fine, so let's get out of here."

Roach looks startled. "Go where?"

"I think I have some money left," you say, pulling back the covers and hopping off over the other edge of the bed. "Let's go. You drive."

Just as you finish your breakfast and say thanks to Soap for the company, Shepherd walks into the cafeteria.

"Morning, sir," you say amiably, even fitting in a smile. He eyes you suspiciously, saying nothing in return. Perhaps he notices the mischief in your eyes and voice. "I suggest you stay in your chambers for the rest of the day."

"And why is that?" he asks—oh wait, demands.

Without answering, you walk out of the cafeteria and walk over to Roach's room, in the hallway housing the members' rooms. All of the task force members are there, with the exception of Soap and Ghost, loitering in the hallway and doorways with the doors to their rooms wide open.

"Well, here's the little minx," Scarecrow says as the chatter among the men quiets down and you approach.

"Now then, Private, what's gotten in your head?" Archer folds his arms, cocking a brow. "Paintball guns? How and when did you get these?"

As Archer says this, Roach emerges from his room with Worm, the man he shares his room with, their arms cradling paintball guns. They hand out the paintball guns, all members giving out a cheer of approval, whereas Archer accepts one with a skeptical look on his face.

"Come on, Archer, what's wrong with a little paintballing?" you smile, accepting a paintball gun of your own.

Archer says, "First, Shepherd's at the base. Second, we don't have a proper arena for a paintball match. Third, Shepherd and the captain will kill us if we start paintballing. Fourth, there's no logical reason for us to do this."

"First, who cares if Shepherd's at base? He gave all of you the week off, and this week basically isn't over yet, and he's not actually supposed to be here right now." Besides, the paintball match could give you a precious chance to shoot that bitch in the face.

"Second, this building will be our arena. Only thing is we can't enter the rooms. We don't need a proper arena." The long hallways with no cover can make for interesting situations.

"Third, MacTavish will probably laugh or ignore us, and it's not like Shepherd's gonna order you to do push-ups if you paintball. He has no authority on your week off, as long as you boys remember to clean up." Even so, you can always just shoot him if he wouldn't shut up…

"And fourth, I have a reason. I came here to see how you guys train, and to prove that your unofficial training has paid off, nothing like a non-lethal shooting/hunting match, huh?" That reason sounds pretty legit to you.

Archer falls silent, unsure what to reply to your counters. The other members chuckle, and Toad pats Archer's shoulder. "Won't you just shut up and loosen up? It's the Private's last day, after all."

"Shit, seven days already?" Royce exclaims, his excitement for the paintballing match drains with this knowledge. He turns to you. "I didn't realize."

The others fall silent, this information apparently hitting them like a bombshell.

"Guys, don't think about it now," you laugh, wagging your head. "What matters now is that we make my last day here as fun as possible. Where are the safety glasses? And my helmet? You boys get your own helmets."

Meat passes you your helmet and safety glasses, and as you put them on, Rocket asks, "How are we playing?"

"Well, I was thinking Team Deathmatch, but…Free-for-all kinda sounds better, doesn't it?" you grin, strapping the helmet on. Pushing the safety glasses up your nose, everyone looks at you, puzzled. Supressing an even larger smile, you say, "Shoot everyone. Nobody is your ally."

"Don't enter the rooms either, except for rooms with no closing doors, like the cafeteria or recreation room," Roach continues, brandishing a paintball gun of his own. Worm hands out the rest of the safety glasses as he continues, "Every person gets a special colour. Goal is to shoot every single member once with your colour. "

"Now, we only have about, fourteen people in the base. You get like, enough for twenty shots each. If you haven't managed to hit thirteen targets with those twenty paintballs, you lose!" you explain, "You also lose if you've been hit with four or more colours."

"No wonder you wanted us to wear our white-Ts today," Ozone grins.

"Yep," you chirp. You point out Roach, who is taking out three extra paintball guns and placing them on the floor along the hallway. Worm gives out paintball ammo, with each member getting a different colour. The guns laid out by Roach has different colours than the ones the members are holding. "These extra guns are for…just in case the Captain, Ghost and…uh…Shepherd wants to join."

Everyone laughs at the impossibility of the situation, and you clap your hands in the air. "Now then, get your helmets, or…if you think you're tough enough to go without a helmet, so be it. No headshots." You throw a quick, warning glance to Archer and Toad.

After a cheeky smile from Toad, you turn away and grab your paintball gun. "And spread out. In exactly thirty minutes, 0830 hours, the paintballing match starts. Remember, boys—free-for-all."

Isn't it ironic Roach decided to choose pink as your paintballing colour?

Oh well. You are the only girl at the base.

Doesn't matter. The suspense is killing you. Crawling through the empty, long hallways, deadly silence receiving you as you strain to hear for any noise, any movement or footsteps. Nothing to hear except your own breathing, and hiding or sneaking around every time you do catch a creak or light thud.

Checking each turn, watching the shadows cast by the morning sunshine—skittering down the long, no-cover-at-all hallways, constantly throwing looks over your shoulder. It's scary just as it is exciting.

Occasionally you hear a shootout happening somewhere around the many corners. Loud bursts of paintballs exploding against the wall, or slamming into a body, followed by loud curses and swears of getting back at the shooter, which is usually replied with triumphant laughs or sneers and loud footsteps as the shooter retreats to avoid getting shot himself.

At one point, you reach a T-shaped hallway. Just as you approach the junction, you hear shouts from just ahead of you.

"Oh shit!" That's unmistakeably Toad's voice. His cry is followed by scrambled footsteps.

Someone fires from the right hallway, the shot heading straight into the left hallway.

"Haha, missed!" Toad shouts, glee evident in his voice. "Purple, huh? I know it's you, Archer!"

"Be good spotter and come out of hiding, will you?" That's Archer, alright. It's funny—okay, well, funny wouldn't be the correct word for it—how sexy his peculiar accent sounds when he's persuading. And how perfect that the other man in Toad.

A paintball fires at the right hallway from the left.

"You're bad at aiming, what else is new?" Archer taunts, chuckling darkly.

"That's called blind aiming!"

"Yeah, because you're too scared to come out and take proper aim? Too used to having all the time in the world?"

"Fuck you," Toad curses, menace and seriousness lacking in his voice.

"When and where?" Archer cannily replies, and there are a few moments of silence.

Sexual tension is in the air, alright.

A few moments later, two shots, from both directions, shoot towards the opposite. Someone cries out, swears and collapses, and the other snickers. "Heh, how's that for bad aiming?"

As this happens, you stealthily come near the junction. From their interaction, you make out that Archer is probably on the floor of the left hallway, whereas Toad is in the right one, his gun down. Taking the opportunity, you step into the junction and quickly aim at the figure in the right hallway.

Pulling the trigger, Toad gets thrown off balance by the pink splotch that bursts against his shoulder and stumbles back. He loses his footing, and you swirl around in time to shoot Archer, who was defenceless and recovering on the floor.

Archer cries out a second time, about the same moment Toad falls to the floor with a thud. Laughing, you immediately run back down from where you came from.

"Pink? Shite, Private, you could've aimed somewhere other than my bollocks!" Archer hisses, causing you laugh harder as you retreat down the hallway.

Taking a left turn, you slow down, but not before something hits you on the back and causes you to stumble forward. A mischievous, chuffed snicker follows, and the chuckle alone is not enough for you to automatically identify its owner.

Despite stunned, you turn around fast enough and just in time to see someone stand up from his kneeling position in the corner and dash into another hallway, out of your view.

Jaw agape, you take a few moments to process what just happened.

As the pieces fall into place, you shout angrily. "I don't know who you are, but I will find you, and I will shoot your camping ass!"

After an intense match with Royce, you manage to get one of your pink paintballs on his leg before making a run for it.

Losing him in the maze, you see someone casually appear down the hallway. Automatically, and without taking aim, you fire at the approaching figure.

"Shite!" he curses, stumbling back but not falling. Hand to his shoulder, he looks up. "What the bloody hell?!"

You lower your gun, eyes widening as you take in the accent and skull balaclava. "Ghost! Oh shit, I'm sorry!"

No, you're not.

"What are you doing?" he demands, you can imagine the incredulous look he's giving you underneath that mask.

"No time to talk, members' chambers, paintball gun for you," you sputter, rushing past him. "Don't get shot four times, hit all thirteen people, out of ammo before hitting all targets means you lose! Don't enter rooms either, have fun!"

"…what?"

You disappear down the next hallway.

In the cafeteria, you crouch behind one of the tables way at the back, your paintball gun resting on one of the chairs as you steady yourself on your knees on the floor. Aiming straight for the entrance if anyone entered the cafeteria, having a clear view with no obstructions, and hidden from immediate view.

In a sense, settling down to snipe a target.

It isn't long before your intended victim enters. Forever dressed in that dark green uniform, that stupid beret on his head, probably covering a balding head for all you know, that arrogant look on his face… who other than General Shepherd to better fit that description.

He enters cautiously, looking around as though he knows he's walking into an ambush. Perhaps that's just how he is, or perhaps it's of old habit for him to eyeball everything. Or maybe it's because the base was too quiet, and he hasn't run into any of the twelve paintball-wielding soldiers yet.

Well, he's about to.

You take a deep breath and take aim, remembering how Archer and Toad did it: relaxed, controlled, focused. He walks slowly, like he's in a movie or some shit, but thank God for that, makes your job easier, and within a few moments, you pull the trigger.

As a splash of pink stains the front of his pristine uniform, you stare for a few moments, eyes wide as you cannot believe you just did that to the general of an army.

Shepherd stumbles a few steps, obviously caught off guard by the shot, his hand flying to his chest where he got hit. He stares at the hot pink paint, and his startled and confused look is so priceless you throw your head back and laugh.

In response to the burst of laughter, he looks up and glares in your direction.

"Don't file any charges!" you shout out playfully, still laughing, as you race out the cafeteria.

Taking cover at a corner, you hear voices in the next hallway.

"Ghost? You're in the match?" Roach sounds surprised, in a good way, which is relieving.

"Roach," Ghost's voice remains as neutral and cold as ever, but even so you still pick up the startle in his tone from seeing the sergeant. He then continues with a lighter, friendlier note. "Y-Yes, I am. I was forced, actually."

"Yeah, I can tell, you only have one pink splotch on your whole uniform."

"She…caught me by surprise. The rest, I have them all down. Just one more person and her, and I'm winning this bloody fight."

Chuckles are exchanged. For a moment it's as though nothing ever happened between the two. The situation is as normal and friendly as it can get.

Then, abruptly: "Roach, we shouldn't talk like this right now. Anyone can pop round the corner…and I'm supposed to shoot you, since only you and Private are on my list."

You hear someone attempt to walk away, then, "Wait! Simon, I've got to talk to you, now."

"Later, mate."

"No—"

"I will shoot you if you don't let go of me."

Not eager to see this turn into an argument, you come out of hiding and shoot Roach, whose back is facing you. He stumbles forward, falling into Ghost, who doesn't catch him in time before the sergeant falls on his knees on the floor.

"Bug!" Ghost exclaims, grabbing him by the shoulders as Roach collapses to his knees. Looking up, he sees you at the other end, your gun still aimed towards them. "Bloody hell!" Sloppily, the lieutenant raises his gun with one hand whereas the other remains to hold Roach, and he fires.

As he pulls the trigger, you snap back into cover, white paint exploding against the wall. You then listen as Ghost hurrily drags Roach around the corner, and, in other words, to cover.

"That was close. Too bad, though, that you still got hit. Can you imagine what it would've been like if it was a real battlefield?" Two seconds of quietness, and then a small sigh. "You're always getting into trouble, Bug."

Roach chuckles. "That's why I have you, Simon."

Again the silence falls, and, satisfied you saved Roach's ass from a nasty situation again, you use the opportunity to slip away.

The next time you decide to go to the cafeteria to hunt down the targets you haven't shot yet, you learn something new. There's a war going on in there.

Somehow, all the members are gathered there, all the tables turned and used as cover. Chairs and stools scattered about, the walls and floors stained with sloppy rainbows, and the shouts and laughter of members bouncing off the walls. It's pure chaos.

Deciding to join the fray, you pick out targets from the crowd, moving from cover to cover, shooting those who exited the safety of their tables to move to another one. It's relatively easy, maybe because they're too focused on shooting one another to remember that there's a non-task-force-member in their midst.

One by one, you tick names off your mental list of targets. And, having ticked off Shepherd, Soap is the only man left. Strange, you haven't seen him since morning. He must have decided the shouts of triumph and shootouts meant that he should stay in the safety of his office.

You round the room, dodging the paintballs, mentally mapping a possible route to escape the cafeteria. You jump over the counters for cover, but before you crouch, you realize someone else has already taken this spot.

Here, in the darkness of the counters, safe from the chaotic atmosphere, the loud shouts and swears, with paintballs of all colours going in every direction, are Ghost and Roach, locked in what is obviously a make-out session.

Ghost's glasses are on the floor with their paintball guns, leaning against the counter, with Roach's hair in his hands as their lips lock together, slowly, passionately, no hungry rush that spoke volumes of rough and pure lust, just their lips moving gently against each other, understanding, in sync—signs of tenderness, care, and…love.

It takes a full two seconds before you can actually talk.

"Wow, you guys," you blink, agape jaw transforming into a toothy grin. "This is really sweet and all but. On the battlefield. Seriously? Is now the right time?"

At first, they're both startled at the knowledge someone is there, but they evidently relax as it turns out to be only you.

"Well, in every fight there's no guarantee one will live, so anytime is a right time," Ghost says, smirking underneath his balaclava, the crinkles at the edges of his blue eyes a sign of happiness you never thought you'd see in someone like him.

You spare them both a heartfelt smile, until someone shoots you smack in the chest.

"Fuck!" you curse, and how can you have forgotten to crouch. You're technically in a battle and you forget the most basic of things. Find cover. Return fire. This is definitely Roach's and Ghost's fault. They distracted you with their sexy kissing in the first place.

"Ey, Private, I suggest you get out of here, this cover's kind of taken," Ghost chuckles as Roach gets off him and retrieves his paintball gun. "You're everybody's target and by right we should shoot you."

"If I leave this perfectly safe place to take refuge you guys would start doing god knows what," you deadpan.

"Sex on the battlefield? What do you take us for, Private?" Roach pretends to sound offended but that grin still shows on his face. "Besides, even if we'd do that we'd choose a more sheltered place."

"Gross." No, not gross. The thought of it is arousing. "Nice to know. Well, I'm gonna go shoot Soap in his face, so, if you don't mind…"

"Good luck, Private!" Roach calls as you jump over the counter and back into the mayhem.

"Who is it?"

"It's the Private!"

"Door's unlocked."

Pushing the door open and peeking inside, you see Soap sitting on his desk, a heap of papers on one side and a computer on the other, the center cleared for him to put his ass on as he compares two papers in his hand.

He looks far from tired, rather energetic and aware, in fact. As though he had just finished brainstorming or come up with a strategy.

"Why are you wearing safety glasses?" Soap arches a brow.

"I can't really explain, sorry," you smile sheepishly, shrugging your shoulders. "But I can tell you that you're a sitting duck and that I'm sorry for having to do this."

Soap widens both eyes as a sign of slight alarm, but before he can do anything, you whip your gun from behind you and fire a blind shot in his direction. It shoots straight into the heap of files, and the result of the impact sends all the papers flying.

Your jaw drops and a gasp of excitement escapes, as Soap raises his arms up in a defensive position, as the room starts raining papers.

"Holy shite!" is heard as the many, many papers that took Soap days upon days to organize goes up in the air and rains down all over the floor, some stained and dented with dark pink paint.

As his face is hidden behind his arms, you shoot and hit him square in the stomach. Soap's 'oof' is priceless, and he bends forward as his abdomen absorbs the impact, plus with the scene of his office still having papers floating and swaying around, the whole things is unbearably hilarious. If only this is being recorded.

"Please forgive me!" you shout, turning around and dashing out the door.

Slamming the office entrance close, you're still giggling to yourself when you look up just in time to see Shepherd down the hallway with a paintball gun aimed at you.

In a split second, your smile vanishes and alarm appears on your face, at the same time Shepherd pulls the trigger. First instinct: get down. Throwing yourself to the concrete floor of the cold, bare hallway, going prone to avoid the bullet—easy as pie, right?

Wrong. You hit the ground so hard you feel the sting multiple places at once. Your nose, your chin, your elbows, your knees but especially…

"Fuck! Ow, ow, my boob, ow!"

You roll over immediately, hand pressing against one side of your chest that aches, and fuck that fucking hurts. As you writhe, muttering curses of how much your breasts hurt, you completely forget Shepherd's right over there listening to you.

As the pain slowly subsides, you sit up and halfway turn to look at him, hair a mess and face in distress. Shepherd looks embarrassed. His tan cheeks are slightly red and even that bushy moustache couldn't conceal the tint.

"What?" you raise an eyebrow, giving him a bored expression. He doesn't answer, instead his look of indignation increases, and you smirk a bit. Oh, Shepherd's a prude guy, is he?

"A little warning next time, sir?" you continue, nonchalantly. "I'd rather not slam my boobs against the floor like that again, thankyouverymuch. I'm well-aware your members don't face the same problem."

For the next few seconds, he says absolutely nothing. And you relish every moment. You wonder whether there's anything he can say that'll wipe that smug smirk off your face.

Then, he scowls. "You brat civilian. You bring nothing but disorder to my task force. You reduce my professional killers into annoying children. You cause this base to be a complete mess. You come here under the pathetic excuse of studying military life at base off-mission, and you come and turn it into some sort of fraternity. Who knows what else you've done."

"With all due respect sir, I'm giving these soldiers the enjoyment and relaxation they truly deserve," you reply without a second's delay.

He glowers at you straight in the eye, and you stare back with confidence, your gaze unwavering and strong. Expecting him to grunt and turn away, he catches you off-guard when his glare reduces, and the edges of his mouth—are you dreaming this? – curves upwards into the slightest of smirks.

"I cannot deny that I've never seen my men so laidback and happy," Shepherd states quietly, though his firm, peremptory tone does not change.

"See? What did I tell you?" you beam. "Besides, they may be members of this hella elite task force, but when it comes down to it, they're still human. Still men who are barely out of their twenties, who do get stressed, angry, sad or lonely from time to time. It's only fair for them to have some fun like this every once in a while."

Shepherd surprises you further by saying nothing, but not glaring either.

"Trust me, my being here is for the better," you wink, patting him on the shoulder. "Besides, you should loosen up a bit, too. It's fun sometimes, isn't it, to wield a gun that doesn't shoot bullets for once?"

Shepherd smirks again and wags his head, but does nothing as you quickly make your way back to the cafeteria to announce that the match is over.

For nearly an hour all the task force members talk and talk to you about how you've won the paintball fight, unable to accept the reality they lost to you, a 'civilian'. Who, despite very, very briefly, learned from the best.

Other task force members returned to base after spending the week with their families, such as Doc and Robot and Bishop. The other members, without hesitance, welcomed them back warmly and proceeded to rub in their faces how much of a good time they missed while they were gone.

For some reason, you appreciate the fact nobody really whines or expresses his sadness that you'd be leaving soon. In the aftermath of the paintball fight, you eat, chat and clean up with the boys, cherishing the simple moments.

At one point during the cleaning, Roach whispers thank you. For reasons unknown you feel your chest swell up, and you can do nothing but nod and say that it was no problem. And that you wish Roach and Ghost the best, but you didn't say it aloud.

Alas it comes to that point when Seraph calls to say she is close, and you walk out to the gate with your luggage, the men you've spent the week with trailing along behind you in their paintball-stained clothes.

Setting your bag right in front of the gate, you turn to see the group of soldiers you slowly got to know and started to love, despite it being a short time you feel as though you've known them forever, the sad but happy look on their faces being ones that would be etched into your memory for eternity. Simple men with simple pleasures, yet complex at the same time.

Overwhelmed and unsure of what to say. Words, choked out in the attempt to stop the tears: "I'll miss all of you."

"We'll miss you, too, Private," Meat grinned, though it hints sadness. "We'll miss you like hell."

"Thanks for the best time of my life," Toad adds, grinning, again it's not a full-hearted grin, the sadness is there somewhere.

"If I can…I'll visit again." Pathetic, what are you thinking. You meeting them will never happen again.

"We all hope you will," Roach chirps.

A few seconds of silence, and no it isn't awkward. It's nice, comforting and disappointing at the same time.

"Private, I should kill you fucking up my office, but meh, I've done it before, I can do it again," Soap starts, and everyone chuckles. Then, he coughs and digs a hand into his pocket.

It's something made of cotton, woll, or thread, you're not sure. It was round, and about the size of your palm. Soap gives it to you and promptly steps back, and everyone watches as you stare at his 'present'.

An official Task Force 141 badge. Complete with the blue ring and skull and winged dagger.

"Doesn't make you an official part of the task force, but…take it as a souvenir," Ghost chimes in. "Sorry it's not much."

You're totally floored. Flabbergasted. Speechless.

Happy.

Before you can say anything, a car pulls up outside the gate. Seraph.

Your heart drops to your stomach. At that moment you hate Seraph more than anything.

"Shit…well, I've gotta go, boys," you say, a disappointed smile crossing your face. Looking down at the badge, before rolling it and stuffing it into your pocket, you pick up your luggage and smile at them brightly.

"So long, sweeties. Take care and…" your eyes meet with Ghost's and Roach's, "I wish all of you the very best."

Everyone smiles, and fuck this is unbearable, you turn around and walk out the gate. Opening the boot of the car you throw your luggage in, but before closing it, you see a small box. Written on the note stuck to it, 'For Captain MacTavish.'

You look to the front of the car, and you see Seraph's sharp eyes looking at you through the rear-view mirror. Immediately getting the message you take the small box out and close the boot before putting the small box outside the gate.

"Package for you, Captain MacTavish," you smile, and promptly enter the car.

Settling down in the driver's seat, you roll down the window and wave. Everybody waves back, and without further ado, Seraph steps on the pedal and drives away.

The base recedes into the distance. Finally, it's out of your sights, and you lean back, closing the window, sighing.

"What's in the small box you gave to MacTavish?" you ask Seraph, whom you haven't heard from in days. She's still the one who made it all happen.

"Files and research and a lot of favours I asked around from people I know," Seraph says casually. "Things about General Shepherd meeting a Russian guy…and the whereabouts of a Captain Price. Shit like that, might be useful to the task force, who knows?" she shrugs her shoulders, as if it's the most unimportant thing in the world.

Upon digesting this information, your jaw drops and your eyes widen. Seraph…did she just…?

"But who cares about that?!" Seraph suddenly laughs. Peering at you, she waggles her eyebrows. "Soooo, tell me, Private, did anything interesting happen?"

"Please, interesting?" you scoff. Then, leaning back against the seat, you chuckle, "Better get comfortable, girl, because it's going to be a long story…"

END

A/N: Soooo yeah, that's it, the end of this fic. Thank you again to all the loyal readers out there, then again all my thank yous aren't thanks enough.

Don't forget to review!

~Seraph