#just pretend its not that bad shhhh 0_0

[cod-thoughts]

Day 30 of 31 days of COD

Word count: 10.8k

Relationships: team as family, NikPrice, Ghost & Price

Tags: Angst with a happy ending, protective Price, hurt/comfort

"Please," Ghost choked out, his voice raw, muffled against Price's chest. "Please, don’t do that again. Please, Dad, please." His voice was filled with desperation, his grip tightening around Price as if to keep him from ever leaving again. Price felt the weight of the words, the fear and vulnerability that Ghost was allowing himself to show, and it broke something in him. OR Price decides to be a self-sacrificing idiot and has to deal with the consequences of his actions. Keep reading under the cut or on AO3 Translations and explanation can be found at the end!

The air on the tarmac had that crisp, early morning chill that bit through the fabric of their gear, even though their bodies were already buzzing with anticipation. The team stood around the helicopter, the rhythmic thud of the rotor blades slowly spinning in the background, the wind tousling their hair and rattling their gear. Price adjusted his hat, his gaze roaming over his men—his boys really, though he'd never say it out loud. Ghost, Soap, Gaz; they were all ready, hardened expressions mixed with determination.

Nikolai stood a little apart from the group, his presence quieter but not unnoticed. He had the look that Price knew well—concern masked beneath the guise of a practiced smile. They didn't need words, but they both knew what was coming. Before Price made his way to the rest of the team, there was this small moment carved out just for them, an almost sacred ritual.

Nikolai stepped closer, his eyes catching Price's. For a second, the world seemed to still—the noise of the rotor, the rumble of boots on tarmac, everything faded until it was just the two of them. Price took a steadying breath, reaching for the silver band on his finger. He slid it off slowly, the weight of it familiar and grounding. The ring was simple—unadorned, with only a small engraving on the inside: 'Always.' He handed it to Nik before he unclasped the chain of his dog tags around his neck. He watched as Nik mirrored the gesture on a simple chain instead.

Taking off his own ring, his hands trembling slightly, he threaded Nik's wedding ring onto his chain, next to his tags. The metal clinked together softly, a comforting sound amidst the chaos. Nikolai's ring was similarly plain, with 'Yours'etched along the inner side, a private reminder between them. Nik slipped it onto the chain that rested against his chest, the metal warm from his skin. The weight of the exchange felt heavier than it usually did, like something unspoken lingered between them—a promise and a hope.

"I'll come back in one piece, love," Price murmured, the gruffness of his voice softening slightly for Nik's ears alone.

Nik smiled, but it was the kind that barely touched his eyes. He reached out, briefly brushing his hand against Price's arm, and then quickly stepped back, knowing better than to draw it out. He couldn't afford to show weakness in front of the men, nor could Price. So, instead, he settled for words that were all facade and warmth.

"Just... just be careful, Johnathan." Nik called out, his accent thickening slightly in his worry, his voice carrying a teasing edge but layered with genuine concern. They shared a grin with each other, their focus on the mission, but the look in Nik's eyes remained serious.

Price gave a nod, a small smile tugging at his lips as he looked back at Nik. "I’ll do my best, Nik. I promise."

Nik stayed there, watching as they boarded and the bird lifted from the ground, the wind kicking up dirt around his boots. He watched until the helicopter became a dot on the horizon, and then he looked down at the ring on his chain, sighing deeply. It was all out of his hands now.

---

The mission had gone south fast. What was supposed to be a quick infiltration had turned into a bloody firefight, and their planned route had been cut off by unexpected enemy patrol, forcing them to adapt quickly. Price barked out orders, his voice urgent yet somehow calm despite the chaos unfolding around them. Making sure to direct his men to regroup in the nearby abandoned warehouse. They scrambled through broken windows and ducked behind crumbling walls, the sound of gunfire echoing like thunder.

They were pinned down, and time was running out. Price's eyes locked onto the small display blinking red on a bomb rigged to the central support of the building. It wasn't just any bomb—it was linked to secondary charges spread throughout the entire complex. The network of explosives extended beyond this building, reaching into adjacent structures, including residential blocks. The realisation hit him hard: if the bomb went off, it wouldn't just be them—it would take out nearby civilian buildings as well. The seconds were ticking down, each blink sending a wave of dread through the team.

Price's jaw clenched as he scanned the faces of his men. Ghost, steady and ready, his eyes dark with resolve; Soap, already calculating what needed to be done; Gaz, young, but with a determination that mirrored his captain’s. These were his boys. But it wasn't just about them anymore—it was about every life these bombs threatened. The only way to ensure the safety of both his team and the innocent people in the surrounding area was for him to stay behind.

There was only one way to make sure they made it out, and countless others made it out alive.

"Listen up, we don't have time. I'm staying to deal with this. You lot need to get to exfil," Price commanded, trying to keep his voice steady.

Soap, crouched behind a pillar, immediately shook his head vehemently. "No, Captain. No way in hell. I'm staying—I'm the bomb tech, I'm the one who can disarm this."

Price looked at Soap, his gaze hard but filled with something more—understanding, the heavy weight of their reality pressing down. "Soap, listen to me," he said, voice low. "You’re the expert, and that’s exactly why you have to go. The team needs you, lad. We need you for more than just today, there’s secondary charges Soap these people are going to need you.” Quietly adding You’ve got more to give, and this isn't your end."

Soap's jaw clenched, and he shook his head, the conflict tearing him apart. "Captain..."

Price stepped closer, placing a firm hand on Soap's shoulder. "It has to be me. These charges are linked, Soap—if they go off, it's not just us. It's everyone around here—civilians, families. If I can’t stop it, you’ll need to get out, protect them, and take care of our team. That's an order, MacTavish."

Soap's face twisted in pain, his eyes glistening as he fought back the tears. He was torn between loyalty and duty, but the commanding weight in Price’s eyes left no room for argument.

"No, I... I can't just leave you!" Soap shouted; his voice raw with emotion. His hands balled into fists at his sides, and his chest heaved with the weight of the choice.

Gaz stepped in then, his own face tight with anguish. He understood what Price was doing, even if every part of him disagreed with it. He knew there was no changing Price's mind, and that their best chance at saving lives was to follow orders, even if it tore at his heart. He grabbed Soap’s arm, pulling at him. "Soap, we have to go," Gaz urged, his voice cracking. "The Captain gave an order, and if we don't go now, we're risking everyone."

Soap looked at Gaz, his face twisted in a mixture of desperation and fury. He turned back to Price, his resolve wavering as he met the unwavering look in his Captain's eyes.

Price nodded once more, this time with a tenderness that cut through the tension. "It's alright, John. I'll be right behind you. You need to trust me, alright?"

Soap’s breath caught, and he finally nodded, his voice breaking as he forced the words out. "Aye, sir," he finally whispered, defeated. "You come back, you hear me?"

Price gave a faint nod, a small smile of reassurance that didn’t reach his eyes. "I'll do what I can. Now go."

Gaz moved in more forcefully, gripping Soap's shoulder and practically pulling him away towards the exit, even though Soap kept glancing back, his heart clearly wanting to stay. "We've got to trust him," Gaz said firmly, even though his own eyes were wet, his own heart heavy.

Ghost lingered, his gaze locked onto Price's, the silent exchange heavy with unspoken words. Price saw the disbelief, the raw anger, the helplessness in his eyes. Ghost took a step forward, his fists clenched at his sides, his body trembling with the urge to defy the order.

"No, Captain," Ghost said, his voice rough and almost desperate. "You can't do this alone. We should be staying with you."

Price held his gaze, his own eyes softening. "Simon, I need you to listen to me. These bombs are bigger than just us. They're rigged to take out the whole block. You need to get the others out and make sure no one else gets caught in this. You need to look after them, alright?" He took a step closer, his voice lowering. "That's not just an order, it's me trusting you to do this. Civilians, our sergeants—they need you, Simon. I need you to do this for me."

Ghost's jaw worked, his eyes wet with emotion. He looked torn, every fibre of him wanting to refuse. He took a ragged breath, looking at Soap and Gaz, then back at Price. Price reached out, gripping Ghost's shoulder firmly. "I know you don't want to go, son. But you've got to. You need to lead them out of here."

Ghost's eyes filled with something akin to betrayal, his body rigid with the effort it took to comply. He swallowed hard, nodding sharply, though the pain in his eyes remained. "Yes, sir," he forced out, his voice barely a whisper. "Just... you better make it out too."

Price gave him a small, reassuring nod. "I'll do my best, Simon. Now go."

With a final, pained look, Ghost turned and followed the others, his steps heavy, as if every fibre of his being fought against leaving. The weight of the moment hung between them, the unspoken promise that Price would find his way back to them. Ghost moved, though his heart was clearly still left behind with his captain.

Price turned back to the bomb, his heart pounding in his chest, each beat echoing the seconds slipping away, the countdown ticking down far too fast. The network of explosives flashed through his mind—the image of those charges detonating, of buildings crumbling and innocent lives lost if he failed. He forced himself to focus, to steady his breath, to remember why he had to succeed. The weight of every heartbeat thudded against his ribs, and he tried to steady his breath, tried to focus. His radio buzzed in his ear, but with a sudden crackle, it fell silent, leaving behind only a cold, suffocating silence. He glanced down at the radio clipped to his vest—broken, wires exposed, static whining faintly. It must have been damaged during the firefight. No way to let the team know if—no when—he managed this. He had to believe he could.

His fingers trembled, just for a second, and Price clenched his jaw, forcing the nervousness down. He took a slow, deliberate breath, forcing his hands to move with methodical precision over the bomb’s wiring. Each wire felt like a live current beneath his fingers, the tension a tightrope he was walking, step by careful step. Every second mattered. He could almost hear the countdown in his head, each tick reverberating louder and louder, matching the rhythm of his heartbeat. He could feel the beads of sweat on his forehead, each drop tracing a line down his temple. His focus narrowed, becoming razor-sharp.

As his hands worked, his thoughts wandered, unbidden, as if trying to find something to hold onto. Nik's face flashed in his mind—the warmth of his smile, the way his eyes shone when they looked at each other, the ring now lying against Price’s chest, cold metal that felt like the only thing anchoring him to the present. He thought of Nik waiting for him, of the promise he'd made to come back in one piece. A promise that felt like it was slipping through his fingers like grains of sand.

Ghost, Soap, Gaz—they were more than just soldiers under his command. They were his family, each of them a reason to fight, a reason to live. He could see Ghost’s eyes, the raw fear beneath the mask of composure. He could hear Soap’s voice cracking as he pleaded with him to come back. Gaz’s face, torn between duty and the unbearable fear of losing his captain. He wasn’t just doing this for himself—he was doing this for all of them.

His hands moved faster, time running too thin. He could feel his pulse in his ears, the roaring sound almost drowning out everything else. His fingers moved over the wires, blue, then red, then the tiny circuit board—each connection felt like it held the weight of the world. There was no room for mistakes. His breath came in short, sharp bursts, the pressure in his chest growing heavier with every second. Every instinct screamed at him that time was slipping away, that this might be it.

It clicked—a metallic sound, the kind that could either mean salvation or the end. The kind of sound that could decide if there was another heartbeat left or not.

Price closed his eyes in that heartbeat. He thought of Nik—the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, the weight of his ring on Price’s chain, the promises they made silently every time they exchanged them. He thought of Ghost, a son he’d never expected but cherished all the same, of Soap’s infectious grin and Gaz’s infallible loyalty. He thought of all the moments they’d shared, the laughter, the arguments, the brotherhood that had forged them together stronger than steel. He braced himself, every muscle tensed, waiting, expecting the heat and force of an explosion—

Nothing

His eyes snapped open, the display on the bomb now blank. The small, blinking red light had stopped. For a moment, Price couldn’t move. It was as if the entire world had frozen, the silence around him deafening after the frantic, thunderous pulse of his heartbeat. His breath escaped him in a shuddering sigh—he had done it. The bomb was disarmed, and somehow, he was still standing.

Suddenly, a distant explosion echoed through the air—a deafening blast that shook the building, reverberating off the crumbling walls. Price's heart lurched. It wasn’t the bomb he had just defused, but something else nearby had gone off. He didn’t know where, but the sound was unmistakable. His stomach dropped as the fear of what that meant for his team gripped him.

"Bloody hell," he whispered to himself, the adrenaline leaving him weak for a moment. He knew what they must be thinking, that they might believe it was over for him. He had to move, had to show them he was still here.

The adrenaline that had kept him going started to drain away, leaving him feeling hollow and almost detached from his own body. His muscles felt weak, his knees threatened to buckle, and he had to grab onto the edge of the support beam to steady himself. Every part of him ached, a dull, throbbing pain radiating from his hands up his arms. He closed his eyes, just for a second, his body trembling with the aftershock. The rush that had kept his mind sharp and his focus razor-edged now abandoned him, leaving behind a void that made every breath feel heavier than the last.

"Fuck," he whispered to himself, his voice almost swallowed by the emptiness around him. He wanted nothing more than to crumple right there, to give in to the exhaustion that was washing over him in waves. But there was no time to dwell on it. He had to get out, and he had to get to his men.

He forced himself to move, pushing off from the beam, each step feeling like he was wading through deep water. Slowly, his determination overcame the fatigue, and he broke into a run. He started booking it towards the extraction point, each step pounding against the earth, the vibrations echoing through his body. His chest burned with each ragged breath, his lungs feeling raw, but the thought of his team—what they must be feeling—spurred him on.

He could picture Soap’s face, the horror, the refusal to leave. The look in Ghost’s eyes, that raw pain that Price knew would have cut deeper than any enemy’s blade. They thought he was gone. They thought they'd lost him, and that image haunted him as he ran. Gaz too—Price could see the struggle in his eyes, the conflict between following orders and the desire to go back. Gaz understood, even if he didn't agree, but Price knew it had torn at him. The look on Nik's face, the fear hidden behind the strong facade, his quiet strength always there to support him—he had to make it back.

He pushed harder, forcing his legs to move faster, the ground blurring beneath him. His feet pounded against the dirt, every impact jarring, sending jolts of pain up through his legs, but he ignored the ache. He had to get back to them. His vision tunnelled, his focus zeroed in on the path ahead, and with every muscle screaming for rest, he kept going.

The extraction point was fast approaching, but every step felt like a mile, and each breath was a struggle against the weight crushing his chest. He could feel the exhaustion clawing at him, the adrenaline crash dragging at his heels, but he refused to give in. He remembered the explosion, the fear that must have surged through his team at the sound of it. He had to prove to them he was still alive, that they hadn’t lost him. He wouldn’t let them think they had lost him, not for one second longer than necessary.

Price grit his teeth, his face set in a determined grimace, and he ran as if his life depended on it. He had promised them, and he intended to keep that promise. No matter what it took.

---

At the extraction point, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz were scattered across the area, awaiting the evac chopper. The atmosphere was tense, a kind of heavy silence that settled over them, made even heavier by the distant explosion that had echoed across the landscape. The blast had sent a shock through each of them, an unspoken fear hanging in the air—that it was Price, that he hadn't made it out. Soap was pacing back and forth, his boots grinding into the dirt with every turn, cursing under his breath as he struggled to process the reality of what they'd just done. Gaz stood nearby, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his jaw clenched as he tried, unsuccessfully, to keep his own nerves in check.

Soap was pacing back and forth, his boots grinding into the dirt with every turn, cursing under his breath as he struggled to process the explosion they had just heard. His face twisted in anguish, and his eyes were wild, darting towards the horizon. He finally stopped, turning towards Gaz, his voice breaking. "We have to go back, Kyle. We can't just stand here. He stayed back for us, and we're just gonna leave him?!"

Gaz shook his head, his own voice trembling with frustration, his fists clenched as he tried to steady himself. "We can't, Soap," he said, the words almost getting stuck in his throat. "He gave us an order. He told us to trust him. We have to." Despite his words, Gaz's own eyes were filled with fear, the tremor in his voice betraying his own desperation.

Soap's face twisted, his breathing coming in ragged gasps. "To hell with orders, Gaz! That's Price back there! What if that blast..." He stopped, choking on the words, his hands balling into fists. It was clear that the thought of losing Price was tearing him apart.

Gaz looked down, struggling to keep his composure. "I know, Tav. Do you think I'm okay with this? You think I don't want to run back there too? But he told us to trust him, and we've got to believe in him. He’s made it through worse—he'll make it through this. He has to."

A little distance away, Ghost sat apart from them, his gear discarded beside him. His gloves, his vest—they were scattered at his feet as if he couldn’t stand the weight of them anymore. The sound of the explosion echoed in his mind, repeating like a terrible omen. He stared off into the distance, his eyes unfocused, completely gone in his thoughts. His face was an empty mask, but his eyes told a different story—filled with pain, regret, and a hollow kind of fear. He couldn’t help but think that maybe the blast had been the last he'd ever hear of Price. He barely heard Soap and Gaz arguing; their voices were nothing more than background noise to the sound of Price's voice echoing over and over in his mind.

He should have stayed. He should have been the one to make that choice. Why was it always Price putting himself on the line, when Ghost knew it should have been him? The thought tore at him—he wasn't worth as much as Price, never had been. Price was the one who mattered, the one everyone needed. If someone had to make that sacrifice, it should have been Ghost, not Price. It was all he could think about, a litany of what-ifs and regrets that filled the void left by Price’s absence.

"Ghost," Gaz called, his voice almost pleading as he looked over. But Ghost didn’t respond. He just stared, his gaze locked on the horizon, as if searching for something—anything—that would tell him this wasn’t real.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Ghost saw movement—a flicker, a shadow that broke the stillness of the distance. His eyes snapped into focus, his breath catching in his throat as he strained to see. A figure was running towards them, the silhouette unmistakable even from afar.

Ghost blinked, his heart skipping a beat. His lips parted, and he leaned forward, his body trembling with disbelief. "Price..."

It came out barely as a whisper, then louder, his voice cracking, "Price!"

Gaz and Soap snapped their heads towards the direction Ghost was staring. And there he was—Captain John Price, alive, sprinting towards them, his face set in determination. Soap let out a strangled shout, half relief, half disbelief.

"Bloody hell, he made it," Gaz breathed, a grin breaking across his face as his eyes filled with tears.

But Ghost didn’t wait. He stood up and bolted towards Price, his legs moving before his mind had even caught up. His vision blurred, and his heart pounded, the world around him fading into nothing but the desperate need to reach his captain. Ghost ran as if his life depended on it, as if somehow, if he could just reach Price fast enough, he could undo everything they had gone through in the past agonizing minutes. The moment he reached Price, all composure broke. Ghost threw himself at Price, colliding with a force that took Price by surprise, his arms wrapping around him, gripping as if he were afraid Price might slip away again. For the first time in what felt like forever, Ghost let himself crumble, his mask of stoicism shattering entirely.

"Price…" It was more of a sob than a word, his voice breaking as he held onto him, his body shaking from the weight of everything he had bottled up.

Price staggered back slightly at the impact, his eyes widening as he felt Ghost bury his head into his chest despite their height difference. The sobs that wracked through Ghost, the man who had always been unbreakable, were jarring and raw, and Price could do nothing but hold him. His own heart ached with a fierce protectiveness that burned in his chest. Price’s arms came up, wrapping tightly around Ghost, pulling him even closer, anchoring him.

Ghost’s knees suddenly buckled, the relief palpable, and Price lowered them both to the ground, his grip unwavering. Ghost’s hands fisted in the fabric of Price's jacket, his breaths coming out in broken, gasping sobs that tore at Price’s heart. For Soap and Gaz who had started running after Ghost—it was shocking. They had seen Ghost face down entire armies without flinching, watched him survive situations that would have broken any other man, but now, here he was, trembling and vulnerable, all his defences shattered.

"Please," Ghost choked out, his voice raw, muffled against Price's chest. "Please, don’t do that again. Please, Dad, please." His voice was filled with desperation, his grip tightening around Price as if to keep him from ever leaving again. Price felt the weight of the words, the fear and vulnerability that Ghost was allowing himself to show, and it broke something in him. The word Dad echoed in his mind, a word he'd longed to hear but never expected. For a second, he almost convinced himself he had imagined it, that he was hearing what he wanted to hear. But the way Ghost clung to him, the desperation in his voice—it was real. Simon had called him Dad, and it hit him harder than anything else in that moment.

Price’s throat tightened, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He closed them, feeling his own composure slip. One hand came up to rest on the back of Ghost’s neck, fingers tangling in the fabric of his mask. He could feel Ghost struggling for breath, each sob hitching and ragged, muffled beneath the material. Price’s heart twisted at the sight, and with gentle, insistent fingers, he began to pull Ghost's mask up and off.

Ghost tensed for a moment, but Price shushed him softly, his voice filled with warmth and care. "Easy, Simon, easy, need you to breathe, lad," he whispered, his fingers sliding the mask away, revealing Ghost’s tear-streaked face, his cheeks flushed, and eyes red. Ghost gasped, his breath catching as the cool air hit his face, and Price cupped his cheeks, his thumbs brushing away the tears that spilled freely.

"Please..." Ghost whispered again, his voice cracking, his eyes searching Price’s. "I can't lose you too. Not you. Not after everything. Please, Dad... don’t leave me. Not again." His words tumbled out, each one carrying the rawness of his pain, the fear of losing the closest thing to family he had left.

Price’s heart clenched at the sound of that word again—Dad. He could see it in Ghost’s eyes, the desperation, the plea for something stable, something he could trust. Price cupped Ghost's cheeks, holding his gaze, his own tears finally spilling over. "Oh, Simon," he murmured, his voice breaking. "I won't leave you, son. Not if I can help it. You mean too much to me." His voice wavered, each word filled with his own fear and love, a promise that he would do everything in his power to stay. He pulled Ghost close again, holding him tightly as if he could shield him from everything they had faced, as if his embrace could somehow make up for all the pain that had come before.

For a long moment, it was just them. Ghost’s sobs quieted, but he didn’t let go, his body still shaking, his head once again burying itself against Price’s chest. Price kept murmuring reassurances, words of comfort, his voice barely audible, his heart aching as he tried to calm the man who had always seemed invincible. It wasn’t just Ghost needing Price—it was Price needing to be there, to prove that he had survived too, that neither of them would have to face the darkness alone.

Soap and Gaz approached cautiously, exchanging glances that spoke of both shock and a deep, unspoken understanding. The sight of Ghost, usually so steadfast, shattered and clinging to Price was almost too much to take in. Soap’s face was flushed, his emotions barely held in check, his breaths coming in shaky bursts as he struggled to maintain his composure. Gaz blinked hard, his eyes glassy, his chest aching with the weight of everything that had just happened. For a moment, neither of them knew what to do—how to bridge the gap between their shock and the need to be there for them.

Without a word, they moved closer, slowly, as if approaching a fragile thing that might break further. When they reached them, Soap dropped down behind Price, facing Ghost, his eyes still wet, and he laid a hand gently on Ghost's shoulder, his fingers trembling. Gaz knelt next to them, his own hand resting on Price's shoulder, grounding himself in the contact. They leaned in, their bodies pressing close, joining in the embrace, and it was like something finally gave way—a dam breaking, a release of all the fear and grief they had held back.

It was a mess of limbs and gear, a tangled heap of bodies pressed together, each of them holding onto the others as if they could anchor themselves in this moment. The shared relief was palpable, an almost physical thing that washed over them. Price wrapped an arm around Soap and Gaz, pulling them in even closer, his voice a soft murmur, shushing them all gently, his words filled with a fatherly warmth. "It's alright, boys. It's alright now. I've got you. We're safe. I'm here." His voice broke slightly, but he kept going, repeating the words like a promise, like a prayer.

Ghost tightened his grip, his face still buried in Price's chest, and Soap let out a shaky breath, his head dropping to rest against Price's shoulder. Gaz closed his eyes, the tension slowly leaving his body as he leaned into the embrace. For just a moment, amidst all the chaos and uncertainty, they allowed themselves this fragile, precious moment—together, alive, and safe. It was imperfect, messy, and raw, but it was theirs, and for now, it was enough.

The helicopter’s interior was dim, the rhythmic pulse of the rotor blades providing a steady, almost calming background noise. The seats were cramped, the restraints tight against their bodies, and there wasn't much space to move—but they were together. Price could feel the exhaustion in his bones, the heavy weight of everything that had transpired pressing down on him, but as they ascended, a different kind of weight settled in—anticipation and a need to be near the ones who mattered most.

Soap and Gaz shared a look before nudging Ghost towards Price. Soap's hand landed on Ghost's back, giving him a gentle push. Ghost hesitated, his gaze flicking over to Price, and the hesitation was clear in his eyes. The embarrassment of his earlier breakdown, the fear of what he'd said—it all weighed heavily on him. He looked unsure, vulnerable in a way that was so unlike him. Price caught the subtle gesture and the conflicted look in Ghost's eyes. He understood.

Price gave a small, encouraging nod, his eyes softening as he gestured for Ghost to come sit next to him. Ghost moved hesitantly, almost timid, and sat down beside Price. He shifted slightly, leaning just enough for their arms to brush. His breath hitched as if unsure, his fingers brushing against Price's arm, barely touching, needing that contact but feeling almost ashamed to ask for it outright. Price noticed the timidness, the quiet plea for comfort, and the way Ghost seemed to shrink in on himself, as if embarrassed by his own need.

Price let out a breath, his heart aching at the sight of Ghost, usually so composed, looking lost and ashamed. Without hesitation, Price reached out, wrapping an arm around Ghost's shoulders, pulling him in closer. It wasn’t an awkward or hesitant motion—it was a declaration, clear and warm. He leaned in slightly, his voice gentle but firm. "None of that, Simon. No shame in needing your family. Not now, not ever."

Ghost turned his head, his forehead coming to rest lightly against Price's shoulder, and Price could feel the way Ghost’s entire body seemed to sag in relief. The captain squeezed his arm, a reassuring pressure. He then shifted his hand, reaching down to take Ghost’s hand, guiding it up until Ghost could feel the pulse on his wrist—a steady, living reminder that Price was still there. Ghost's eyes fluttered closed, his fingers tightening around Price's wrist as he felt the rhythm. He stayed like that, his head against Price, their shoulders touching, his grip firm as if anchoring himself to the present. It was a quiet moment amidst the chaos, the pulse beneath his fingers a small, but profound comfort.

Across from them, Soap and Gaz exchanged another glance, their expressions softening. Gaz leaned into Soap, both of them strapped in, unable to move across towards their team, but still needing the comfort of each other's presence. Soap’s eyes stayed on Price and Ghost, watching his captain with an intensity that held both relief and the last remnants of fear.

It wasn’t the huddle they needed, but in the cramped helicopter, it was the best they could manage. The closeness, the small touches, and the presence of each other—it was enough for now. Enough to remind them that they had made it, that they were alive, and that they were together. And as the helicopter began its descent back to base, they held onto that fragile, precious moment, knowing it was everything they had fought for.

Price's thoughts were a tangled mess. He knew what Nik must be feeling—the fear, the anger, the sheer helplessness of waiting, of not knowing whether the person you loved was coming back. He had seen that look in Nik's eyes before, but this time, it would be worse. Price had put himself on the line again, and even as he told himself it was necessary, he knew the pain it had caused Nik. The unspoken promises, the exchanged rings—they had meant something deeper, a commitment that Price knew he had almost broken. He could almost hear Nik's voice, could feel the hurt behind whatever anger he was sure to express. It wasn't just about the mission; it was about them, about what Price meant to Nik.

Price had made a promise, and though he had kept it by the skin of his teeth, he knew that it wouldn't erase the fear that had lived in Nik's heart for those endless moments of uncertainty. He could feel the weight of that promise now more than ever, and the guilt that came with it. Nik deserved better than this constant fear—better than being left behind to wonder if today would be the day Price didn’t come back.

And as much as he steeled himself, Price knew that seeing Nik's face, seeing all that emotion laid bare, would break something inside of him. He loved Nik more than anything, and every decision he made to protect his men came at the cost of Nik's peace. Price wasn't sure how many more times Nik could bear that burden, and the thought terrified him.

Nik was waiting, and Price could tell from his posture that he already knew most of what had happened. Always keeping tabs on their missions when he couldn't join them, even the simple one. The tension in his shoulders, the way his hands were clenched into fists, his eyes scanning for Price before the helicopter had even fully landed—it all painted a vivid picture. Nik had been terrified. Price could feel the guilt settle heavily in his chest. He knew the fear Nik must have felt during those moments of silence, not knowing if Price was still alive, and it tore at him.

He thought of all the promises they'd made—of always coming back, of staying safe for each other. Nik had trusted him, and once again, Price had put himself in a position where he could have broken that trust, where he could have left Nik alone to bear the weight of his loss. The thought twisted painfully inside of him. He wasn't just fighting for his men—he was fighting for Nik, for the life they'd built, for the love that kept him grounded. And yet, time and time again, he knew he was the one who caused Nik that unbearable worry.

The helicopter door slid open, but Price hesitated. The weight of everything that had happened was still pressing down on all of them. Ghost was leaning heavily against him, and Soap and Gaz looked rattled, their eyes fixed on him and Ghost, as if they were all trying to gather the strength to face what came next.

Price knew what was waiting for him outside. He glanced at Soap and Gaz, who exchanged a tired but knowing look—no jokes, no teasing, just a silent understanding. They all knew Nik was going to let Price have it, but none of them had the energy for their usual quips. Instead, Soap just gave Price a look that said it all: Good luck, Cap. Gaz nodded slightly, his eyes filled with the same unspoken sentiment.

Price slowly shifted, easing Ghost away from him, his hand lingering on Ghost’s shoulder, squeezing it in reassurance before letting go. Ghost looked down, embarrassed, his earlier vulnerability still weighing on him. He shifted uncomfortably, clearly still reeling of his emotional outburst. Price caught the hesitation, the way Ghost's shoulders seemed to curl inward as if he wanted to shrink from sight.

Price gave him a gentle nod, his voice soft but firm. "We're alright, Simon. It's okay" He waited until Ghost looked up, meeting his eyes. Ghost gave a hesitant nod back, and Price offered a small, encouraging smile, squeezing his shoulder once more before glancing over at Soap and Gaz.

Price sighed, the fatigue settling deeper, but he steeled himself. He carefully moved, pushing himself to his feet. It was slow, deliberate, each movement weighted with the exhaustion of everything that had come before.

As he stepped out of the helicopter, his boots hitting the tarmac heavily, Price knew that he was moments away from facing Nik, and whatever was coming would be both deserved and inevitable.

It took effort to stand, his muscles protesting, and he carefully stepped past his teammates, his body aching but his mind heavier still. As Price stepped down onto the tarmac, his boots hitting the ground heavily, he knew he barely had a moment before Nik would be there, and he braced himself for what was to come.

As he predicted he barely had time to take a breath before Nik was in front of him, the look on his face a mix of fury, relief, and a deep, unspoken fear that lingered beneath it all.

“What the fuck were you thinking, John?!” Nik’s voice was thick with emotion, his accent more pronounced in his agitation, switching between Russian and English in his fury. "Ty sovsem s uma soshol? Do you think you are invincible? You think I could just—just go on if you did not come back? You think you are expendable, huh?! Ty dumayesh', chto ty ne vazhen? You think you can just throw yourself into danger like you mean nothing, like you don't matter? You keep acting like the only thing that matters is everyone else, and you forget about the people who need you, the ones who can't go on without you." Nik's words were raw, unrestrained, every ounce of fear and anger he had felt came rushing out, spilling into his voice. "Chyort', John! You promised me! Ty mne obeshchal! You always promise, and then you go and pull shit like this. How many times do you think I can take this? How many times do I have to wait, not knowing if live or die?"

Price opened his mouth to respond, to apologize, his voice low, "Nik," But before he could say anything more, Nik closed the distance between them, grabbing the front of Price’s vest and pulling him in. For a heartbeat, Price thought Nik might strike him—he could see the storm in Nik's eyes—but instead, Nik’s grip softened, and he tugged Price into a desperate embrace. Price felt Nik’s heart pounding against his chest as Nik’s arms wound tightly around him.

“You bastard,” Nik whispered, his voice breaking, tears beginning to well up. “You promised. You always promise, and then you go and do something like this.” His voice cracked, and his grip on Price tightened, fingers digging into the fabric of Price's vest as if he was terrified that if he let go, Price would slip away for good. "Do you even understand what that does to me? Every time I think I will lose you, every time you make that choice..."

Price’s eyes closed, his arms wrapping around Nik in return, holding him just as fiercely. He felt the trembling in Nik’s body, the way he was barely holding himself together. Price could hear the hitch in Nik's breath, the desperate, uneven gasps. He knew that this wasn’t just anger—it was everything they’d feared, everything they had almost lost. It was fear, love, and the aching pain of almost losing everything that mattered. It was the knowledge that Price's choices had brought them to the brink once more.

“I know,” Price murmured, his voice raw, the words almost sticking in his throat. “I’m sorry, Nik. I’m so fucking sorry.” His voice wavered, and he pulled Nik closer, as if trying to shield him from the weight of the pain he'd caused. He buried his face in Nik's shoulder, feeling the warmth, the reality of Nik being right there, and his heart ached with the depth of it.

Nik pulled back just enough to look Price in the eyes, his brow furrowed with emotion, his lips trembling. “You don’t get it, John,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I cannot do this without you. Ya ne mogu sdelat' eto bez tebya. Cannot keep pretending that I can just pick up the pieces every time you decide you should stay behind.” His voice broke, switching back to Russian as his emotions overwhelmed him. "Kazhdyy raz, kogda ty reshayesh' ostat'sya... kazhdyy raz ya dumayu, chto eto konets." The rawness of his words struck deep, his fear and frustration spilling out.

Without another word, he leaned in and kissed Price, fierce and unapologetic, right there in front of everyone. It was a kiss filled with everything they couldn’t say—anger, relief, love, desperation. Price kissed him back, not caring for a moment who was watching, letting the intensity of it say everything he couldn’t put into words. He clung to Nik, letting him feel every ounce of his promise to try, to be better, to come back every time.

Around them, the team was disembarking, moving slowly as if the weight of everything that had happened still clung to their shoulders. Soap and Gaz exchanged a glance before looking away, their smiles faint but genuine, respecting the gravity of the moment between Price and Nik. They could both sense how much this reunion meant, not just for the two of them, but for the entire team that drew strength from their bond.

Ghost stood a little apart, his eyes lingering on Price and Nik, his gaze filled with relief and something closer to vulnerability than anyone had ever seen from him. His chest felt tight as he watched the way Nik held Price, as if afraid he would slip away. Ghost didn’t move, his fingers twitching slightly as if he wanted to reach out himself, but he just watched, letting the rawness of the moment settle in.

Soap moved closer to Gaz, the two of them standing shoulder to shoulder, each of them letting out a shaky breath they didn't realize they'd been holding. Soap’s eyes were glistening, and he blinked hard, looking away from the raw display between Price and Nik, feeling the lump in his throat grow heavier. He muttered something under his breath, a mix of curses and prayers, as if trying to reconcile the fear they'd all felt.

Gaz put a hand on Soap’s shoulder, squeezing gently as he gave a shaky smile. They all wanted to rush over, to reassure themselves that Price was alright, that he was really there, but they knew this moment was not theirs to intrude on. They needed this reunion as much as Nik and Price did, but they also knew the value of letting those emotions breathe.

Finally, after a long pause, Ghost took a small step forward, his posture still guarded. His eyes remained fixed on Price, as if seeking permission, unsure whether it was his place to approach. But the relief was evident—seeing Price alive, seeing Nik holding him close—it was enough to make the lingering fear in Ghost's heart begin to ease. He swallowed hard, his own vulnerability weighing on him. He didn't know how to articulate what he felt, so he just stayed where he was, letting the intensity of the scene wash over him.

And in that space, surrounded by his brothers, there was a quiet understanding that, for now, they were together, and that was enough.

When Nik finally pulled away, he took a shaky breath, his forehead resting against Price’s. “Do not ever do that again,” he said, his voice still thick with emotion, quieter now. “I must not lose you, John.”

Price nodded, his hand coming up to cradle the side of Nik’s face. “I can't promise you that, Nik, you know I can't but I will always try to come back to you, I can promise you that much.”

Nik let out a shaky sigh, the tension in his shoulders finally beginning to ease. He gave Price a small, wry smile, knowing that that's really all Price can promise. “You better.” ---

Price's quarters were dimly lit, the low hum of the base a distant, constant noise that felt almost suffocating in the silence of the room. He could feel the exhaustion pulling at him, the day’s events replaying in his mind over and over again, but none of that compared to the sight of Nik standing across from him, eyes stormy with anger and something deeper—something that twisted in Price’s gut and wouldn’t let go. We have to talk Nik had said before dragging him here. Those words echoing and weighing heavily on Price's mind.

Nik paced in front of him, running a hand through his hair in frustration, his eyes darting from Price to the floor. "I am not done with this Johnathan. Do you really think you can keep doing this? Throwing yourself into danger like you are nothing?" His voice cracked, and he turned away, his fists clenching and unclenching. "Every time you do this, every time you put yourself in the line of fire like that, it kills me. It fucking kills me." His accent was thick with anger and fear. "You think you can just keep doing this, keep risking everything, like you do not matter? Like your life means nothing?"

Price swallowed hard, and for a second, he thought he should say something, anything to ease the anger in Nik's eyes. But he couldn’t. Instead, he felt a familiar, cold weight settle in his chest—this belief that he was the one who should take the risks. That his life was less important than the others’. He dropped his gaze, his hands balling into fists by his sides. He knew what Nik wanted him to say, but the words wouldn't come.

"Nik, I had to—"

"No!" Nik cut him off, his voice sharp as he spun to face Price again. "No, you did not have to! You chose to! Ty vybral eto!" He took a step closer, his eyes blazing with a mixture of fear and fury. "You chose to put yourself in harm's way again, you keep doing it like... like you matter not to anyone. But you do, John. Ty vazhen dlya menya. You matter to me. To your team. They need you. I need you!"

Price blinked, his chest tightening. He could see the tears in Nik's eyes, the way his whole body seemed to be trembling with the force of his emotions. Price’s heart sank further, that cold weight getting heavier. Did Nik really not see it? Didn’t he understand that this was Price’s way of protecting them all, of making sure they were safe, even if it meant putting himself at risk? He felt the words slipping away, and all that was left was the aching fear that maybe Nik was tired of it. Tired of him. He looked down, his voice barely a whisper. "Nik, I... I’m sorry. I just... I thought..."

Nik shook his head, his voice softening as he stepped closer. "You thought what, John? That I would be better off without you? That I could ever just move on?" He paused, his expression pained as he studied Price's face, the silence between them stretching. "You really think I could move on from you," he breathed out, realising what has Price looking so shaken

Price didn't respond. He couldn’t. The words were caught in his throat, and all he could do was stare at Nik, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. He felt the fear clawing at him—this belief that maybe this time, Nik had reached his limit. Maybe Nik couldn’t handle the way Price constantly put himself in danger, like he was always a breath away from leaving Nik behind. The thought terrified him, and he didn’t know how to make it right. He didn’t know how to promise that he wouldn’t do it again. Because he couldn’t promise that, he could never regret putting his men first, he would do it again in a heartbeat if it meant they would be safe.

Nik let out a shaky breath, his eyes searching Price's. "You think I will leave you, right?" he whispered again. "You think I cannot take it anymore, that I could just walk away? That I am done with you because of who you are?"

Price looked away, his jaw tightening, the fear that had been clawing at him all day suddenly feeling very real. He had seen the anger in Nik’s eyes, heard the pain in his voice, and it had all led him to the same conclusion—that maybe Nik had finally had enough. Maybe this was it. Maybe he had pushed Nik too far this time. He blinked rapidly, trying to stave off the rising dread. He couldn't lose Nik. He couldn’t bear the thought of it.

Nik reached out, his hand resting gently on Price's cheek, forcing him to look back. "John," he said softly, his voice filled with emotion. "I am not leaving you. Not now, not ever. I love you, Mishka. I understand why you do what you do. I admire it, even. The way you put others first, the way you would do anything to protect them—that is part of who you are. It is why you are a good captain, why they follow you without question. But, John, you are not doing it just for them." Nik paused, his thumb brushing lightly across Price's cheek. "You think you are expendable, but you are not. You are so much more than a soldier, more than just a leader who can be replaced. You are the heart of this team, John. You mean everything to them, to me."

Nik's voice softened, a hint of pleading entering his tone. "And Simon—he's like a son to us. Do you see that? He looks to you like a father. You cannot keep putting yourself in the line of fire and think it would not destroy him. He needs you, just like I need you. The boys—they all need you. Without you, they’d be lost.""

Price closed his eyes, his breath hitching as Nik’s words washed over him. He felt the tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and he let out a shuddering breath. The fear hadn’t vanished, but it had softened. He opened his eyes to meet Nik’s, the sincerity and intensity there grounding him in a way he desperately needed. "Nik, I... I don’t know how to stop feeling like this. Like I have to be the one who takes the risk. I don’t regret what I did back there, I can’t regret bringing my family home, Nik. It’s my job—"

Nik shook his head, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from Price’s cheek. "No, John. Your job is to lead them. To come back to them. To come back to me. You are not just a soldier—you are a person, and you matter more than you think." He leaned in, resting his forehead against Price's, his voice barely a whisper. "Please, John. Just... promise me to try. Try to believe that you are worth bringing back."

Price swallowed hard, his hands coming up to rest on Nik's shoulders, pulling him closer. "I’ll try, Nik. I promise." His voice was raw, the words carrying the weight of everything he felt. "I’ll try, for you."

For a moment, they just stood there, holding each other, the weight of the day slowly beginning to lift. Price could feel the warmth of Nik’s body against his, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and it grounded him in a way nothing else could. They stayed like that, taking comfort in each other, until a knock on the door broke the silence.

Price pulled back slightly, his brow furrowing. He exchanged a glance with Nik before he called out. "Come in."

The door creaked open, and there stood Ghost, alone. He looked hesitant, his gaze flickering between Price and Nik, as if he wasn’t entirely sure if he should be there. But he stayed silent, his eyes betraying a mix of emotions—relief, fear, and something deeper that neither Price nor Nik could ignore.

Price and Nik exchanged a glance, and without needing words, they understood. Ghost needed them, needed this moment of reassurance. Nik nodded, stepping slightly to the side, giving Ghost a space beside Price. Price held his hand out, beckoning Ghost closer, his voice gentle. "C'mere, Simon," he said.

Ghost moved forward, almost timidly, and sat down beside Price. He didn’t say anything, just silently removing his balaclava before leaning into Price’s side. Price wrapped an arm around Ghost’s shoulders, pulling him close. Nik hesitated, his hand hovering uncertainly. He wasn’t sure if Ghost wanted his touch, if he would be welcomed despite their own history. But Ghost, as if sensing the hesitation, shifted slightly, leaning back until his shoulder brushed against Nik's chest, a silent request. Nik took a breath, then reached out, his hand resting gently on Ghost’s back, rubbing gentle circles as if to help ease the tension.

For a few moments, the three of them stayed like that—silent, but connected. The weight of the day slowly began to lift, replaced by a sense of solidarity and unspoken understanding. Ghost let out a shaky breath, his eyes closing briefly as he allowed himself to relax into their embrace. Price felt the tension in Ghost’s body ease, and he exchanged a look with Nik, both of them knowing how important this was.

After a while, Ghost pulled back slightly, though he stayed close. He looked up at Price, then at Nik, and spoke in a low voice. "Soap and Gaz are in the rec room," he said. "They... they wanted to give you both some space. But I think we should all be together." There was a vulnerability in his tone, an unspoken plea.

Price smiled gently, nodding. "Alright, Simon. Let’s go find them." He looked at Nik, who gave him a small nod of agreement.

Together, the three of them left Price's quarters and made their way to the rec room. It was late, and the base was quiet, the hallways empty. When they reached the rec room, they found Soap and Gaz seated on one of the couches, their heads turning towards the door as soon as they entered. Soap’s face brightened at the sight of them, and Gaz gave a relieved smile.

Soap stood up, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Everything alright, Cap?" he asked, his eyes flickering between Price, Nik, and Ghost.

Price nodded, a warmth in his eyes as he looked at his team. "Yeah, lads. We're alright," he said, his voice steady.

Gaz smiled, gesturing for them to join. "Good. Come on, sit down."

As they all settled into the rec room, the air remained heavy for a moment, the unspoken worries and fears still lingering. Soap shifted uncomfortably, his eyes on Price. "Cap... we were really worried about you," he said, his voice uncharacteristically serious. He glanced at Gaz, and then back at Price. "What you did out there... it scared us. And... I feel like I should’ve done more. I’m the demolitions expert—I should've been there, I should've stopped it."

Gaz nodded, a frown tugging at his lips. "I pulled Soap away. I thought it was the right call, but I can't stop thinking—what if you didn't make it and we left you behind, Price? What then?"

Price looked at them, his heart clenching at the guilt etched on their faces. He opened his mouth to respond, but Ghost spoke first, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wouldn't know what to do if you were gone." His words hung in the air, the vulnerability in his tone striking everyone. Ghost's eyes were focused on the floor, his mask once again hiding his expression but his slightly hunched shoulders gave him away, as if trying to shield himself from the rawness of his own admission.

Price swallowed hard, his voice gentle but filled with emotion as he spoke. "Lads... this wasn’t on you. You did what I ordered, and you did it because you trusted me. I made that choice because I thought it was the only way to keep you safe." He paused, looking each of them in the eyes, his gaze lingering on Soap, Gaz, and Ghost. "You need me, and I need to remember that. I’ve spent too long thinking my job is just to protect you all, even at the cost of myself, but that's not it, is it? My job is to come back. To be here with you." He sighed, his voice softening. "None of you deserve to carry this guilt. I'm really sorry."

For a moment, silence settled over them, heavy with the weight of everything unspoken. Soap shifted again, his eyes dropping to the floor before lifting back to Price. "It's just... I can't stop thinking about what could've happened. If things had gone wrong, if you hadn't made it out. We need you, Cap. We all do. We can't do this without you." His voice broke slightly, the vulnerability evident.

Gaz nodded in agreement, his expression conflicted. "He's right. We all signed up for this, but we follow you because we believe in you. Just... don't forget we need you here. Not just leading us, but being with us."

Ghost stayed silent, but he shifted closer to Price, the movement subtle, almost unconscious. It spoke of his need for the closeness, for the reassurance that they were all still here, together.

Price looked at them, each one of them, and nodded slowly. "I get it, lads. I really do. I'll do better. I promise you that." He reached out, patting Soap and Gaz on the shoulder, the gesture filled with warmth. "We're a family, and I'm not going anywhere. Not if I can help it."

Slowly, the tension began to dissipate, the weight of their worries lifting just a bit as they shared in their vulnerability. They had faced so much together, and despite the pain and fear, they were still here—still standing together.

The air shifted, a sense of lightness finally beginning to settle over them. Soap looked over at Ghost, a grin tugging at his lips. "So Cap, Nik, when's the adoption ceremony for our Ghostie then?" He winked, the teasing in his voice clear.

Ghost bristled slightly, a hint of colour touching his cheeks as he looked away, embarrassed. "Piss off, Soap," he muttered, still embarrassed from calling Price 'Dad' earlier.

Price chuckled, giving Ghost a gentle nudge. "Could do a lot worse, Simon," he said, his tone light but sincere, carrying an undertone of genuine affection. Nik nodded in agreement, a smile tugging at his lips as he looked at Ghost. He leaned in slightly, his voice low and speaking in Russian, "Ty uzhe nasha, kostochka. Nikakikh bumag ne nuzhno.." He finished with a wink, his tone filled with warmth and affection.

Ghost’s eyes flickered, something softening in his expression at Nik's words and the nickname he'd been given years ago by the man. Price gave a small smile, his hand squeezing Ghost's shoulder gently, as if echoing the sentiment without needing to say it out loud.

Soap and Gaz, watching from across the room, exchanged a look, clearly curious. Soap raised an eyebrow, a grin tugging at his lips. "Alright, what did you just say to him, Nik? He just melted!" he teased.

Nik straightened, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he shook his head. "Nah, Soap," he replied, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Some things are just for family."

Gaz leaned forward, clearly intrigued. "Family, eh? So it's official then? Ghost’s adopted?" he joked, his grin widening.

Ghost let out a huff, but the corner of his mouth twitched upwards, betraying the warmth he felt. "Lucky me," he said, his voice softer than usual.

The room fell into a comfortable silence for a few moments, the kind that comes when everything important has been said and everyone is just grateful to be there. Price looked around at his team—his family—and felt something settle in his chest. A sense of peace, however fragile, and a promise to himself to do better for them. He pulled Ghost a little closer with a gentle pat on his shoulder.

Nik smiled, watching the interactions, then let out a soft sigh. "Alright, enough of the heavy talk. Where do you keep your cards?"

Soap immediately perked up, a grin spreading across his face. "Oh, now you’re talking my language, Nik. But don’t expect to win this time. I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve."

Gaz raised an eyebrow, shaking his head. "Yeah, right, Tav. Last time you said that, you ended up losing all your snacks to me."

Nik smirked, looking at Price and Ghost. "Would you like to join? Or would you rather watch these fools lose all their dignity?"

Price chuckled, giving Ghost a gentle squeeze before letting him go. "Why not? Could use a bit of fun." He looked down at Ghost, catching his eyes. "What do you say, Simon? Ready to see Soap embarrass himself again?"

Ghost’s lips twitched, a genuine smile breaking through under his mask. "I suppose I could make time for that," he said quietly, his tone lighter now.

The team moved to gather around a table, the atmosphere lighter, their laughter beginning to fill the space as they settled in for a game. The fears and worries of the day hadn’t vanished, but for now, they were together, and that was enough. The sense of family among them, stronger than ever, wrapped around them like a warm blanket, carrying them into the night.

The translations are also done to the best of my abilities (i dont trust google translate as someone who doesnt speak english trust me, its wrong a lot of the time lol) I did ask someone who speaks more russian than I do but they're also not a native speaker so if you are please please correct me i wont be offended id actually appreciate it!! (DM or an ask is a-okay too if you're nervous to reply, i dont bite promise)

I also decided to do them phonetically (again i attempted to do them phonetically without the phonetic alphabet, its a challenge) because i think it makes it easier for the reader but if you guys dont like that im happy to change it :D

Ty sovsem s uma soshol? - Are you completely crazy?

Ty dumayesh', chto ty ne vazhen - Do you think you are not important?

Chyort - Used the same way English speakers use fuck however it technically means damn/devil and its a little less aggressive

Ty mne obeshchal! - You promised me!

Ya ne mogu sdelat' eto bez tebya. - I can't do this without you

Kazhdyy raz, kogda ty reshayesh' ostat'sya... kazhdyy raz ya dumayu, chto eto konets. - Every time you choose to stay behind, every time i think its the end

Ty vybral eto! - You chose it!

Ty vazhen dlya menya. - You are important to me

Ty uzhe nasha, kostochka. Nikakikh bumag ne nuzhno. - You're already ours, little bone. No paperwork needed.