John Price is a man of action. He cringes, thinking of himself in this way, but it is the only way he could think to describe himself. He works with his hands, gets them dirty where others will not. If a job can be done by him, he'll do it. He doesn't have the time or even the focus to entertain a desk job or anything that affords him the time to entertain a family. He'd been content with being alone.
There were times he dreamed of starting a family – a spouse and kids lounging in the grass of a house in the country, watching a dog chase a fluttering bird. Pure yellow sunlight would shine through the leafy trees onto the ground. The grass would be soft, growing from even softer dirt . But this was all he retained from the dreams. They were always too pristine, as if from a magazine. They were glossy and blank. He couldn't describe the spouse or the children or even the house. It was an idea he was supposed to strive for as a man of his age. He'd retired with a chest full of medals and a beautiful woman in his arms – the person he should have been fighting for, that person he could never describe. Because when he thought about their face, he saw only himself, covered in dirt and gun grease. A gun is always in his hand. Always fighting. This future is the one he would never admit to himself he wanted. The military, that's all he knows. It's all he wants.
To some, it was a sad fate. He thought of it as a sad fate himself when Kate finally married that girl she'd been mooning over ever since they met. He was happy for them, but still, family had never been his dream. Once again, that media dream clawing at his mind, begging him to want it as badly as Kate had. Look at how happy she is, holding this other woman in her arms. You could be this happy if only you'd drop the bullshit. Like every time before it, the dream fades, forgettable as any other.
Yet somehow, a family had presented itself to him. It was scrappy and rough around the edges. They picked each other up when they fell. They celebrated victories and mourned defeats.
He didn't have a spouse, but he somehow ended up with three foul-mouthed stubborn bastards he'd kill and die for – Might even live for them too. He had even more than them too, Farah and Kate. This was his family. His dream.
His relationship with Kate was beyond definition but the others, they were like his children. Their victories and hardships were his.
His dreams shifted away from the glossy media-fed image he'd tried desperately to make himself want, to a family built through spilled blood, fighting side by side until the end of their days. John had no need to wish for anything else. They, much like himself, had fallen back on the military and fighting because they had nothing else. They had to fight for something. And after years of living this life, entertaining the idea of leaving it almost guaranteed you sleepless nights and days of restlessness. So they found comfort in each other – some more than others.
It hadn't been a surprise when Soap – John MacTavish (he couldn't think of calling the lad anything other than Soap, silly as it was) – and Simon had revealed they'd coupled up. Neither were particularly subtle, as much as Ghost pretended he was. The two coming together had been a long time coming but the reveal hadn't been on purpose on their part and instead an accident that left both beet-red and unable to speak in more than stammers. In the end, they were happy and remained professional, aside from the few times they let their flirting fill the silence on missions – much to both John and Gaz's annoyance.
The real surprise had been the impromptu wedding the two had on leave. They'd had it in a pub with just a few of them. The two signed the license, slammed back a few drinks, and were married – something the two of them both expressed shock over the next few months. Price had held the two of them close, much to their drunken protests, sloshing his drink on himself and the newlyweds. Everyone had tears in their eyes that they blamed on being border-line black out drunk. It was in that drunken stupor that Simon joking called Price "father of the bride."
Price didn't challenge this.
But other than the cheap gold bands hanging from their dog tags, nothing really changed.
Until a particularly rough mission that had them clearing through a bombed out village. They walked solemnly through the rubble of family houses, helping rescuers pull out bodies and collecting weapons. The 141 had started out in groups – Ghost with Gaz and Price with Soap, but the dead weighed heavily on them. They joined back together as the sun set before clearing what remained of the last few houses.
They could have left hours ago, having found the remains of some of the bombs – their main objective – but Price felt an obligation to stay, maybe help people get some closure. No one should have to dig their loved ones out of the remains of their homes. And no one had dissented. Gaz nodded grimly in agreement, his lips pressed in a thin line.
So, as the dark fully fell on them, they slipped into one of the last houses. It had probably been two storeys before the bombs fell. Amazingly the walls of the first storey are still standing, giving the four soldiers a brief reprieve from the whistling wind.
Most of the second storey had fallen down to the ground floor, breaking furniture and walls alike. There isn't much space to walk around and they are crammed together, shining their flashlights in crevices looking for bodies. Price knows he should hope to find someone alive in this mess, but the time for that has long since passed.
Ghost calls out from ahead, his voice rough and tired, "Found two."
"Gaz, flag down a rescuer."
"On it, Captain." He speaks slowly and hesitates, watching as Ghost hands Soap his rifle and eases his large form into a gap in the rubble. Gaz turns away before Ghost frees the first body.
It was Price's turn to help. He slips past Soap, who's currently holding his light up. His eyes are bloodshot, dirt and dust smeared around them. He wants to look away, just like Gaz had, but he needed to keep watch in case the debris shifted and crushed both Ghost and Price.
Price pats his shoulder on the way past and Soap gives him a tired nod.
The first body they pull out is a man. That is the only detail Price allows himself to take in. He'd already be dreaming about this when he finally went to bed. He didn't need any more fuel for those nightmares.
Price pulls the man outside, taking a moment to breathe in the night air, arms above his head. Think about them. Don't think about the dead he's pulled out. Think about Ghost and Soap and Gaz and Kate. Think about having drinks with him. Think about how lucky he is to have them with him. He wouldn't be alone in his nightmares. He couldn't save these people, but he could protect them.
"Fucking hell!" Soap exclaims, still inside. His voice carries through the city.
Price sprints inside, deftly jumping over fallen boards, despite the leaping of his heart. The pounding of his chest threatens to throw him off balance. Protect them.
By the time he gets back to the center of the house, he sees he hadn't needed to sprint at all.
Soap finishes lowering his gun as Price catches his breath.
He creeps forward, leaning to get a view of whatever had spooked the sergeant.
Deeper in the gap, leaning against a fallen table, is a small child. Her age is impossible to discern, but she's young. Too young for this. Her large dark eyes are pinpoints in the darkness, the white around her irises glowing. They flick around to each strange man.
It looks as if she'd been hiding behind a piece of rubble that Ghost had moved to get better access to her mother. She cowers, blood on her bare knees.
She flinches as Ghost inches forward. He ducks a bit more to avoid hitting his head on a fallen ceiling beam.
His voice is a soft whisper when he speaks, "It's al-"
The little girl launches herself at him, wrapping her scratched arms around Ghost's outstretched arm. She buries her dirty face in his sleeve. She's so small, especially next to Ghost.
He pulls her closer to his chest and she doesn't protest. The little girl grabs onto whatever fabric she can. She's practically crawling on him, sobbing against his chest and unbothered by the grim skull mask adorning his face.
He looks at Price with wide eyes, looking just as young as the girl in his arms - a reminder of the man Simon tried to leave behind.
Price nods towards the last body.
Ghost gathers the girl up in his arms and crawls out of the gap. The little girl continues to whimper into his jacket.
There's a large cut down the back of her arm, still bleeding freely. The dirt and blood cover her back and spill onto Ghost. He could taste it in the air – the chalk from the broken walls and the metal of blood on his tongue. Price swallows it down.
Soap presses a hand to his husband's back for support. His eyes scan the girl and with his other hand he pulls a rag from his pack and presses it against the gash. The girl flinches, turning her head away from him, burying herself further into Ghost's arms. His shoulders relax as he wraps his arms tighter around her.
Just before Price climbs back into the gap in the rubble, he sees Ghost shake ever so slightly.
He doesn't realize until he's turned away that he wasn't shaking.
He was bouncing the little girl.
She doesn't release her hold on Ghost at all, even once Gaz returns with the rescuers.
Ghost sits on the edge of the EVAC chopper, still holding her as a medic cleans up her arm.
The first time they separate is when the chopper lands at the nearest hospital and only because she'd fallen asleep and therefore could put up no resistance when a doctor pulled her away.
Gaz collapses in a chair in the waiting room, "Fucking exhausting day, mate."
"Too fucking right." Soap murmurs, his eyes on Ghost slumped over in a different chair.
Price watches as the sergeant walks over and takes the seat next to Ghost. He holds his hand, rubbing circles into it. The larger man leans into his partner.
Price joins Gaz in watching the two of them until Gaz rubs his forehead.
"I never want to do that again." He groans.
Price leans forward on his knees, continuing to watch Soap and Ghost. The latter speaks softly to his partner. Soap's eyes widen ever so slightly, then he looks at Price and Gaz.
"Someone has to," Price says, finally looking at Gaz, "It's-"
"Our job," Gaz pulls his hat off, rubbing his sweaty hair, "I know. Doesn't mean it stops sucking." He re-situates his hat, casting his gaze about the waiting room. "They learn her name yet?"
"No." Price purses his lips, "The few survivors they've found are still too injured to identify her."
"What happens if they can't find any more family?" Soap calls. He's still holding Ghost's hand.
"Same thing that happens anywhere," Price leans back, his back popping, "Hospital surrenders her to the state."
A doctor enters the waiting room, sure in her step and searching for someone specific. She surveys Price and Gaz, then focuses on Ghost.
She keeps her voice low as she converses with him. Soap listens intently as well, the two nodding along. She finishes and Ghost stands. He barely looks at Price and Gaz before patting Soap's shoulder and following the doctor deeper into the hospital.
"Think they have a spare bed for us?" Gaz jokes, chuckling breathlessly. His eyes are closed, seconds away from napping upright in his chair.
Price places a caring hand on the back of Gaz's head, "The local base is sending someone to pick us up. You can sleep in the car."
Soap joins them, his muddy boots squeaking loudly on the clean tile floor.
Gaz peeks a tired eye at him, "What's that about?"
"The little girl asked for him."
"Is she alright?"
Soap breathes out heavily through his nose, "Seems like it. Physically at least."
"That's all anyone can hope for at this point." Price looks at both men before him. They're grown, but at times like these, it's hard not to imagine them as the same age as that little girl. Soap shuffles on his feet, trying to fight off sleep while Gaz can barely keep his head up. They're covered in dirt and dust from the day's activities. Gaz even rubs his eyes.
He also thinks about how many times he's seen them injured or been there to pick them up. Gaz, when they first met, looked terrified and determined. He literally picked him up off the ground – probably like that girl's parents had when she fell learning to ride a bike or even learning to walk. Soap was prone to injury and fought it off with a crooked smile, even when he was bleeding and sore, but never rejected a kind hand to steady his back, just like Price had after his altercation with Hassan.
He moves his hand to grasp Gaz's shoulder and pulls him closer. The younger man flops onto him, too drained to do anything. Price then tugs on Soap's jacket, pulling him into the seat next to him. He falls as well, leaning against Price's other side.
He doesn't know what he would do without them.
They're both asleep a few minutes later, definitely against their own will. Price continues to hold onto them. They didn't have anywhere they needed to be and it would probably be a few more hours before their ride got here. Ghost hadn't come back, but Price had seen the doctor who spirited him away a few times. She checks in at the nurses' station every couple minutes, picking up and dropping off charts.
She walks by again. Price slips his arms out from behind Gaz and Soap. The former stirs, groaning and blinking, only having dozed off. Soap, on the other hand, is already out. His head falls against the wall with a thud.
The doctor watches him approach.
"Captain." She nods solemnly.
"Is it alright if I fetch my lieutenant?"
"No problem. Follow me." She turns around. Unlike before, she's a bit more unsteady on her feet, pinching her thigh.
"How long have you been working?" Price asks, dodging around a nurse on their way to the waiting area.
"Longer than you have, I'd bet." She grins at him, accentuating the bags under her eyes.
Price chuckles, "No doubt."
She stops in front of a door, left slightly ajar. Soft voices come from inside – the deep one he recognizes well. The doctor raises her hand to knock, but Price stops her.
"Thank you," he whispers.
Price listens closely to the conversation as the doctor stumbles away.
A small voice had begun talking, the words stilted, as if new to the little girl, "Orange."
There's some scuffling of plastic on plastic, then a ripping sound.
"Thank you."
Ghost doesn't respond verbally, but knowing the man he probably nodded. Then he says, "You like orange jelly?"
The girl's voice gets more excited, "It's really sweet!"
He chuckles. Price takes the chance to lean in closer, getting a view of the two. Ghost sits in a chair next to the hospital bed. The blankets and pillows engulf the little girl. Her dark skin is clear of dirt and blood and her hair no longer matted. Someone had given her a stuffed 'get-well soon' bear. She clutches this to her chest along with a tub of jelly. There's a selection on a rolling table, all for her. Probably the first time in her life she'd been given that much choice.
"Not used to that?" He asks.
The little girl shakes her head and continues to dig happily into the treat. Ghost moves a wire off the bed, pulled there when the girl moved. He makes sure it's straight while studying the monitors around her.
Price finally makes himself known, stepping softly into the room. He keeps a hand on the door, not wanting to close it and make either person feel trapped. Ghost himself had spent enough time in hospitals – Price there for a number of them.
Ghost looks over and gives him a single nod then turns back to the little girl, "I'll be back. See if I can't get you some more of that stuff." He ruffles her hair, her smile growing wider as she continues to suck down her desert. She reaches for another one as soon as his turns his back.
Price closes the door after him, the two now alone in the hall. Price notes he's still wearing his mask, the grease-paint around his eyes thick and dark.
Ghost knows what he's going to ask before Price even opens his mouth.
"Said her name's Siobhan. She's three…and one half," he adds with a chuckle.
Price returns it, needing the levity, "Does she have any other family?"
"Not that she knows of."
"We have a name now, at least. They can find someone to take care of her."
Ghost looks through the window into the room. His eyes crinkle with a smile. He'd never been good at having a poker face. The mask made up for it somewhat, but if you knew him, his expressions were easy to read. He waves before returning his focus back to Price.
"I'll meet you back at base tomorrow. I'm going to stay with her."
"You stay here, I lose Soap as well."
"That's your problem then," he answers with another crinkle of his eyes.
"We'll pick you two up tomorrow."
"Thank you, Price."
He did indeed lose Soap the moment he heard Ghost was staying. Gaz was more than happy to leave and finish his nap. They both crashed as soon as they made it back to base – not even bothering to shower.
Price leaves Gaz to sleep in the next morning. After the day they'd had, he could use it.
He packs a bag with some extra clothes for Soap and Ghost before heading back to the hospital.
Price didn't need help finding the room again. Much of the staff is still the same as it was last night and let him pass without interruption, remembering him from hours before.
Once again he peeks his head in first. Ghost leans against the wall, looking up at a television playing children's cartoons. Soap is sitting in the chair, but neither him nor Siobhan are watching. The two are playing tic-tac-toe on a notepad. Soap curses under his breath and Siobhan laughs, clapping her little hands.
The cartoon goes to commercial and Ghost pushes off the wall. He hadn't made an indication that he'd seen Price but the captain should have known better. He presses a masked kiss to Soap's head and joins Price in the hallway.
His eyes are grim, shifting around and not landing on Price.
"We need to talk." He says.
"About what?"
Ghost shifts on his feet, crossing his arms. He hunches his shoulders, trying to look small.
"Soap and I are leaving." He says quickly. then barrels on, "We've both almost died and before…before that would have been fine for us. Our duty was worth it. But now our duty is to each other."
His voice gets surer as he speaks.
"How long have you been thinking about this?" Price tries to keep his voice neutral and clear of the emotions that surge through him.
"Few months now. It was Johnny's idea, but he was drunk and tired so we didn't talk too much about it. The topic came back up last night."
A stomach sinking sadness that Price isn't accustomed to settles into him at losing half of his family but also a sense of pride. He grabs onto this.
"Well what are you two going to do with all that free time?"
He looks back into the room. The tic-tac-toe game had ended and the cartoon resumed. Soap leans on his elbow, watching it with Siobhan.
Simon's eyes take on a softness that he only ever reserved for Soap. He's still looking at his husband when he answers him, "She doesn't have any living family."
"That's a big step." Price responds.
"It is. But she has no one left. No one, Price. I know what it's like – to lose your home and family all in one go. And making sure she doesn't have to be alone, well it can't be harder than half the shit we do. "
"You'd be surprised. You'll spend everyday worrying about her. It'll be even worse when she's hurt or sick."
Ghost finally looks at him, "You speaking from experience?"
"It's how I feel about you. And Soap. And Gaz." The sentiment is too forward, even for Price, but it's out there now. If he was going to lose them, he'd rather it be in this way. Let them live the life he could never have.
Ghost grants him an emotional reprieve by not responding. They both prefer it that way. It was said and done. Commenting on it didn't change it, didn't change the feelings that had grown between them. He wasn't looking at that angry kid he'd pulled out of Mexico all those years ago, the one with only murder on his face. Price clenches his fists, trying to control the muscles in his arms, beginning to pull him close and remind him that he'd never been alone. Something tells him Simon knows. He always knows.
"I'll get you the paperwork." Price hands him the duffle bag of clothing and heads off, not wanting to think too hard about what he was about to do.
The day comes a few months later. The paperwork is filled out, clearances stripped, and medals awarded. The two still had a journey ahead of them, working out the legality of Siobhan's adoption, but they could do it from the comfort of their own home. It's a beautiful win. Maybe the magazine cookie cutter dream he had in days past wasn't of his own home, but of theirs.
Gaz helps them pack up a rental car, holding some bags while Ghost shoves another one in the boot. Soap hangs back by Price, a wide-eyed look on his face.
"Still can't believe this is happening." He shoves his hands in his pants pockets. The sky had decided to be grey that day with heavy cloud cover. There had been a misty rain all morning that broke only for a small time. It picks up again, pattering against Price's hat and Soap's bare head. He hunches inwards on himself, trying to hide from the cold. None of this made saying goodbye any easier. After all the things Price had done, it should be.
"You can always change your mind," Price says, embracing the cold rain on his back, "We'd welcome it."
Soap smiles crookedly at him, showing off his sharp canines, "Tempting." He looks back to the car. Ghost slams the boot shut and clasps Gaz's hand. They pull each other into a half-hug sort of thing, chests bumping. Ghost pats Gaz's shoulder, pushing him towards the rest of the 141.
Price watches them approach. "I don't know what I'm going to do without you two."
"The same thing you always do. Kick ass and take names."
"Whose ass are we kicking?" Gaz asks, crossing his arms in a bid to fight off the cold.
"Soap's. One final game of pool before the two take off and leave us all alone."
"Nothing missed." Gaz bumps into Ghost's shoulder, looking up at him with a twisted grin, like he hasn't decided whether he wants to smile at the joke or play it straight-faced. It scrunched his nose and made him look even younger than he is. Ghost looks down at him, seemingly unamused until he chuckles and slides his eyes to Soap's.
"One game, but we need to be leaving. Flat needs cleaned and rearranged. I don't plan on doing the heavy lifting. That's what sergeants are for. Garrick, care to help?"
"Nope. No sir." He draws his words out.
"Just mean's Soap will have to do it all." Price adds, shepherding the group back towards the base.
"No ranks here anymore," Soap's voice is drenched in a bittersweetness he doesn't even try to hide. Ghost pulls him into his side, rubbing some warmth into his shoulder. The two take the lead with Gaz and Price lagging behind.
"Is it just going to be us then?" Gaz asks. He shoves his hands in his pockets, rolling back his shoulders.
"For a while. But we make a good team."
"Damn right we do."
Weeks turn to months with Gaz and Price still at work and Ghost and Soap busy rebuilding civilian lives they hadn't had in years, if they even had them in the first place. The two move to a bigger flat, but only slightly, much to Soap's irritation but it was the best they could do on short notice. Soap had been jokingly bemoaning the lack of yard space over the phone with Price when he heard Ghost mumble something near the phone then a grunt from Soap as his husband presumably punched him playfully. Soap laughs it off, the matter already forgotten and he's ready to hear what Gaz is up to.
Then there was a period of silence where Gaz and Price were busy, country hopping and perpetually exhausted. Price himself lost track of the date.
He collapses into a bunk at whatever base they were currently staying at, Gaz already asleep in the one above him, when his phone rings, quite violently and right next to his ear. Price curses loudly. Gaz grunts above him and swings his only pillow down at Price. The string of words that come out of his mouth puts Price's own cursing to shame. If he wasn't so tired, he'd stick soap in the sergeant's mouth.
He's about to pitch his phone across the room when his tired brain processes the name on screen.
Price jolts up, answering the call despite the protestations of his body and Gaz.
It's Ghost's name on the caller ID but it's Soap he hears first – cursing and laughing brightly – his Scottish accent so thick that Price can't make heads or tails of what he's trying to say. Ghost chuckles softly against the microphone, not at all stifling the sounds of Soap's excitement.
"It's official." Ghost says, "Next month."
"Fuck yeah it is!" Soap screams. This time Ghost grunts, protesting Soap hanging off him as well as the smacking sound that could only be Soap slobbering on him in excited kisses.
Price grabs Gaz's pillow and flings it back up, getting rewarded with tried drooling gibberish that had to be another swear of the highest order.
"What?" He bites.
"You're going to be an uncle, you grouchy bastard."
"What?" Gaz's face appears over the edge of his bunk, upside down and flushed.
"The adoption is happening. Next month, apparently."
"Fuck yeah!" Gaz punches Price's shoulder, laughing as he almost falls out of bed. A grin eats up the entirety of his face.
Ghost is still fighting with Soap on the other end of the call, the two of them exchanging some choice words drenched in a sickly sweet adoration that both men would have cringed at years ago. Soap's voice gets quieter with a grunt of effort on Ghost's part before the man can speak again, "You two better be here by then."
"As long as there's beer."
"When is there not? We know it's late wherever you are, so get some sleep, old man. Soap just wanted to tell you."
"We." Soap corrects.
"Goodnight." Ghost repeats, "And stay frosty."
"Goodnight you two."
There's a pause and Price imagines Ghost nodding. In his mind, Simon's shed the mask, content to exist as himself with Soap and letting those emotions he was shit at hiding come through. It's probably not the case, but he can dream. Then the call ends.
Gaz is still hanging upside down, his smile still bright on his face, but faltering.
"I think I'm going to be sick."
"Figured you'd had enough experience hanging upside down, Kyle."
"Oh," He whips his head back, "real funny sir."
The next few weeks are once again, busy for Price. He'd been in contact with Kate and some other agencies working to find some new people to join the 141 – looking over the copious amounts of files she sent back and desperately hoping for responses from a select few. Then he makes sure someone can cover their asses while he and Gaz are gone. It wouldn't be long, wouldn't even really count as "leave." This latter task is made harder by Kate insisting she and her wife needed to come as well. She asserts it's because her wife wants "baby cuddles." She would never admit she wanted them as well. Gaz even pretended he was more interested in drinking with Soap than hanging out with a child.
After that call, the lovebirds had been tight-lipped about the events for that day. Just show up. No gifts. Don't bring anything.
Price wasn't doing that. That's not how he was raised. As soon as he and Gaz land in London, he drags the man to a shop and stares at toys in a children's section. Gaz hangs back, looking back and forth lazily down the aisle.
"How big is a four-year-old?" Price asks.
"Depends. Just grab a teddy bear or something. Kids aren't picky."
"It's the thought that counts, Kyle."
"You're putting thought into it. And I thought you didn't like being late?"
"Being late is worth it. Look around you, Garrick. Picture you're Siobhan and you're standing in this store. You have free reign to get whatever you want. What do you choose?"
"Seeing as I'm no longer a four-year-old, I don't know." But to his credit, he does turn back towards the shelves and studies each option carefully.
"Something big," he muses, "Bragging rights, and all that. Something durable. I don't want it breaking on me."
"You're choosing a toy, Kyle, not a weapon."
"Thought you wanted me to think carefully about this, sir? This is me thinking."
He looks around a moment longer before striding over somewhere to the left. He pulls a blue stuffed animal from the rack and returns, holding the huge creature out in front of him. It's round and misshapen with an embroidered face that droops towards its large plush stomach.
"What the fuck is that thing?"
Gaz flips it around, holding onto it with both his hands. It's almost as large as his torso.
"Not sure. It's ugly, that's for sure. But it's durable, large, and unique." He tosses it to Price who then has the pleasure of holding it under his arm on the way to Ghost and Soap's new place. It's already getting dark out, the street lamps beginning to glow with a yellow light. They still aren't quite needed. The sky is still a glowing grey-orange, broken by stringy cloud cover. A cool evening wind blows through. Price pulls his beanie down over his ears. Gaz suffers in silence. They'd been stuck in a lot of warm climates the past few months, where anything less than 26 degrees was "chilly."
It takes some navigating of a flat-dense apartment building, but eventually Gaz and Price manage to find the place before someone calls the cops on them for loitering. Gaz knocks for him, his hands free of whatever blue creature had been recreated in stuffed toy form. Price still hadn't figured out what it was supposed to be, but that didn't mean Gaz had been wrong in his decision. The toy is soft and has some heft to it, lugging it around has been somewhat comforting.
Soap opens the door, a grin on his face and new wrinkles that suggest that it hadn't faltered in awhile. Then he sees what Price is carrying.
"What is that?"
"No one is quite sure. That's what happens when you pick up things from the side of the road." Gaz jokes, "Actually, isn't that where Price found you?"
"Yes it is."
"Match made in heaven." Price grumbles.
Soap steps aside to let them into a wreck of an apartment. Years of army discipline out the window, but at least it looks cozy. The furniture is a mix of things from both their former flats, everything worn and covered in blankets. Some had been folded while others had been draped to look presentable. There are books, paintings, and loose papers everywhere as well as boxes from newly purchased furniture, the bubble wrap still inside. Soap shoves this to the side between one of the chairs and a photo covered wall. Price smiles fondly at these, looking at himself in a number of the framed memories. Many were from previous operations, each dated in a black ink.
The living space is closed off with an arch into an adjoining room. This is where most of the noise comes from – a little girl squealing and the tinny sound of a cartoon playing through a small speaker. The next room is a small dining space with barely enough space for everyone within it. The table is chipped and covered in paint and sitting at one end is Siobhan, wearing a pink sweater much too large for her. Ghost is leaning over, readjusting the straps of her booster seat. She kicks her feet and scribbles on a large piece of paper. Scattered around her are more crayons and snacks.
"You two acclimated quickly."
"It's what we're trained for." Soap squeezes between the wall and a chair in order to help his husband strap down the booster seat. The plastic still squeaks against the wood of the chair under Siobhan's wiggling.
She looks much better than she had the last time Price had seen her. Her thick hair is up in two curly buns but some strands had escaped. It shines in the dining room light. Someone had made an attempt to roll up the legs of her pants, but with her constant wiggling, one had come unrolled and now hangs over her socks.
Ghost eventually gives up trying to fix the seat and resorts to picking the child up. She squeals again but it gives Soap enough time to properly adjust the seat so she didn't go sliding off. Ghost sets her back down and she goes back to colouring like there had been no problem at all. She grabs a sliced up strawberry as an activity snack.
Gaz pulls out the chair next to hers, previously taken by Ghost. He leans over, "What are you drawing?"
She looks up at him then over to Soap, standing right behind her.
"You can talk to him. This is Gaz."
"I can't talk to strangers." She smiles and shoes off a missing tooth.
"Gaz is like a brother." He pats Gaz's shoulder. "He was in the helicopter with us, remember?"
"Soap." Ghost warns, then he too, see's the abomination Price is holding. He doesn't remark on it yet.
"Right, this is Gaz and that old man over there is Price."
"We're family." Price holds the stuffed toy out, "And this is for you."
Siobhan leaps off the chair, almost hitting her head on the table. Soap flinches, reaching out for her in case she falls. She slips, but remains upright, sliding her way towards Price. Her excitement ebbs away ever so slightly, hesitating a foot away from Price. This time she looks at Ghost. He fiddles with his balaclava, pulling it further down his face. Even in the safety of his own home, he still wears the black greasepaint. It's faded, not recently applied.
"Only if you want to."
Siobhan nods.
"Then go ahead. Say thank you."
"Thank you!" The stuffed creature is almost as large as she is and she stumbles under it. He still doesn't know what it is but it doesn't seem to bother her. She scrambles off into the living room. A split second later, she returns, just as fast, and retrieves her colouring supplies.
"She's a fast one."
Soap sighs, staring into the empty archway she'd disappeared through, "She was up all night, hyperventilating. Nightmares."
"You wouldn't know it." Gaz says.
"She's strong." Price is the only one who can see her. She has sat the toy on the sofa to watch her colour. She kneels next to it and continues her art piece. She is talking to it, already bonded with the strange object. Siobhan catches Price watching her and waves, flashing him that smile again. It's crooked, favoring showing off her little canines. It reminds him of Soap's. She'd be vicious growing up.
"She looks like you already," Price motions to his face, turning his attention back to the dining room, "The smile."
"Pish," He chuckles, "She puts mine to shame."
"She talks as much as he does." Ghost pulls out a different seat, gathering the abandoned activities.
"She's too smart," Soap counters, "Reminds me of you, Price."
Siobhan sprints back in with her toy in hand, "Gaz!"
The man in question turns around, his mouth full of strawberries, cut to be child-safe.
"Captain Glarbel wants you to colour a picture for him."
"Gaz," Price leans against the wall, arms crossed, "Glarbel gave you an order."
"Captain." Siobhan snaps, squeezing the toy closer to her chest. She leans back to keep from falling forward under the extra weight of the toy.
"Captain Glarbel." He corrects, tipping his beanie like a brimmed hat. Siobhan beams, but taps her foot impatiently while waiting for Gaz to slip out of the tiny room and follow her. She stays directly under his feet, as if he might get lost in a small journey.
"She's settling in well."
"It hasn't landed with her yet." Ghost observes, "But children are resilient."
"So," Price kicks off the wall, "What are we doing to celebrate?"
Soap digs in a nearby cabinet and pulls out a single unopened bottle of scotch, "This for us. Juice for her then wait for her to pass out."
"Cheers."
Ghost sets Siobhan up with the same cartoons she'd been watching on his phone and with more papers. Gaz and Ghost sit around the coffee table, scribbling along with her. She tosses paper after paper to the floor, covered in completed drawings. Price himself had quite the collection on his lap – gifts. Soap is always on his feet, bringing her more crayons and snacks. He's hovering. It's cute.
Kate also takes part in the colouring once she gets here. She gives her hosts a pleasant nod before focusing on Siobhan. Naomi makes up for it, making idle chat about the new flat. Kate's wife had never seen the old one and this was perhaps the second time, if he was being generous, she'd ever met the rest of the 141. Price is the only person she's familiar with, but it doesn't stop her from being friendly. After a drink, she gives Ghost tips on how to style Siobhan's hair, complimenting her buns. Soap takes credit for that. Hard to believe, given his mohawk.
At some point, Gaz is tasked with holding onto Captain Glarbel so he can watch TV with them. Siobhan shoves herself between Ghost and Price on the couch. The artistic activities had ended around the same time the bottle of scotch had been emptied. She latches onto Ghost's arm.
Simon settles into it, shifting his arm so it's more comfortable for his daughter.
Soap smiles. It's not his usual one. It's soft, eyes crinkling at the corners and lips twitching upwards. He stands from his own chair, bringing a blanket with him and tossing it over Ghost and Siobhan.
After a few minutes, Siobhan tugs on Ghost's sleeve, eyes wide.
"Juice."
"What do we say when we want something?"
"Can I have juice, please." She kicks her feet, tangling the blanket around her legs.
Ghost leans forward, grabbing the empty child-cup. The movement displaces Siobhan and she falls against Price. She yawns as soon as Ghost turns his back.
Another yawn rips through her, her little eyes fluttering. She brings a tiny fist up and over the blanket to rub her eye, still trying to focus on the cartoon still playing.
Price smiles, turning his attention back to the drink in his hand. But then there's a soft snoring coming from right next to him. Siobhan twitches, curling in on herself and clutching the blanket tightly around her. All her weight is on Price's side with her limbs pressing into his ribs. Price shifts, trying not to wake her but still displace the pressure. She curls tighter to his side.
Soap begins to stand from his place on the floor but Price stops him with a wave of his hand.
"I've got her." Price slides out from under her, keeping one arm around her back. She stirs, her eyes fluttering. Siobhan looks at him but doesn't see him, still under the lull of sleep.
"Bedroom?" Price asks, holding the sleeping child to his chest, the blanket still firmly tucked within her arms.
"Right door in the hall. You'll know it when you see it."
The first thing Price had noticed about Siobhan all those months ago was how small she is. Holding her is unlike anything he'd ever done before. For so long his hands, and the hands of those around him, had been nothing but holders of death and destruction. The only way he could sleep at night was convincing himself that those things he did in the dark protected more people than they harmed. He kept score, deep in his mind, of all the people that hadn't been destroyed at his hand. Soap and Ghost had escaped and Price couldn't be prouder. Somehow, they'd come out of this dream alive and found their own.
He passes Ghost in the kitchen, still refilling the cup until he catches Price out of the corner of his eye. Price nods to him, sliding into the hallway.
Siobhan had fallen back into a fitful sleep, trying to roll over in Price's arms. A small whine escapes from her throat.
There are three doors in the hallway all made of dark wood. One at the left end of the hallway had been left ajar, white light peeking through the crack – the bathroom. To his right is Siobhan's bedroom. Soap was right, he would know it when he saw it. The door had a sign hanging from a hook. Green stickers spelt out Siobhan's name with butterflies flying around it. It's hanging crookedly.
Price nudges the door open, still wrestling with the child tossing in his arms. She latches onto his jacket, pulling it closer to her like a blanket.
"You've got quite the grip, kid." He muses, settling her into her bed. She kicks at him in her sleep. She only wakes when Price unfurls her fingers from his jacket. She looks around the room with those wide eyes, lips trembling.
"Hey," He tucks the covers in tight around her, "You're alright." She snuggles deeper into the blankets, pulling them up to her chin, but she doesn't cry. She yawns again, blinking furiously.
"Don't want to go back to sleep?"
Siobhan shakes her head, her little buns whipping back and forth.
"Scary dreams?" A nod.
"Well, I'll be here if they do. You're not alone. So try to go to sleep."
She scrunches her eyes shut. Her face is contorted in concentration, then she yawns and her face softens.
"Don't worry, your grandad's got you."