#i have a few gaz-centric works coming up i think ive figured out his voice so im excited

[cod-thoughts]

Any Gaz-centric works?

I have some like longer proper works coming up but heres a snippet i wrote and couldnt figure out where to put it or how to make it a full on work so here you go!! Gaz talks about his first kill with Soap. (Continues under the cut :O)

The fire crackled softly in the dark, their little camp tucked safely away from prying eyes. Soap leaned back on his elbows, tossing a small stone in his hand, and Gaz sat cross-legged across from him, absently running his thumb along the edge of his knife. The air was cool, the night stretching out in a quiet lull between missions.

"Do you think about your first kill?" Soap asked suddenly, his voice low but curious.

Gaz stilled, his grip on the knife tightening slightly. “Yeah,” he said after a moment, his gaze fixed on the flames. “More than I’d like to admit.”

Soap sat up, the playful edge of his demeanour softening as he caught the shift in Gaz’s tone. “Was it bad?”

Gaz let out a breath, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. “It wasn’t what I thought it’d be. I mean, you train for it, you’re prepared for it—at least, you think you are. But the first time…” He shook his head, the words catching for a second. “It stays with you.”

Soap didn’t press, letting the quiet stretch out until Gaz continued.

“I was nineteen,” Gaz said, his voice distant, like he was speaking to the fire more than to Soap. “Fresh out of training, cocky as hell, thinking I was ready for anything. It was supposed to be a routine op, just recon. No action.” He scoffed, the faintest edge of bitterness in his tone. “But things went sideways, as they always do.”

He paused, rubbing his hands together as if to shake off the memory. “It was me or him. Simple as that. He came out of nowhere, gun in hand. I didn’t even have time to think, just reacted. Pulled the trigger.”

Soap gave a small nod, his eyes never leaving Gaz. “And?”

“And…” Gaz’s voice dropped, softer now. “It was quiet. Too quiet. No big heroic moment. Just a man hitting the ground, staring at me like he was waiting for me to explain why it happened. Why it had to be him.”

The crackle of the fire filled the space between them.

“I remember everything about him,” Gaz continued, his voice steady but weighted. “The colour of his shirt, the way his hand twitched before he went still. The way the air felt after, like everything just stopped for a second. And then it didn’t. The world kept moving, and I had to move with it.”

Soap tossed the stone aside, leaning forward slightly. “That sort of thing… it sticks with you, doesn’t it? Doesn’t mean you were wrong, though.”

Gaz looked up, meeting his eyes. “No. It was him or me, and I’d do it again if I had to. But… I still wonder. Who was he? Did he have a family? Was he scared? I’ll never know, and maybe that’s what sticks with me the most.”

Soap let out a small breath, thoughtful. “You wouldn’t be you if it didn’t bother you, mate. That’s not a bad thing.”

Gaz huffed out a quiet laugh, the weight in his chest lifting just slightly. “Yeah, well, good or bad, I’m not sure I’ll ever forget him.”

“Maybe you’re not meant to,” Soap said simply. “Not everything’s meant to leave you.”

Gaz stared into the fire for a moment longer before nodding. “Yeah. Maybe.”

The two lapsed into silence, the firelight flickering between them, filling the quiet with a warmth that neither of them had the words for.