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cod-thoughts · 1 month ago

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Day 23 of 31 days of COD

Words: 2.2k

Relationships: Team as family, NikPrice, PriceNik, Ghost & Price

Tags: Slice of life, comfort, soft Nik, soft Price.

Nikolai, still half-asleep, his voice a lazy slur, muttered, “Mishka…” The word slipped out, familiar and affectionate, and it lingered in the air like a gentle whisper. Soap blinked, sitting up straighter in his chair. Gaz’s mouth opened slightly, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard. Even Ghost paused, the soft scrape of metal against stone coming to a halt. Keep reading under the cut or on AO3

The rec room was quiet, a rare stillness settling over the base after the long op. Most of the team sat around one of the larger tables, nursing cups of tea or coffee, relishing the peace after days in the field. The sound of boots scraping against concrete, the occasional clink of a mug, and the hum of the overhead lights were the only sounds filling the air.

Soap leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, eyes twinkling with mischief. He tapped his boot against the floor, clearly thinking up something, the cogs in his mind already turning. “Alright, boys,” he said, breaking the silence. “Got a question for you lot.”

Gaz, sitting across from him, looked up, raising an eyebrow. “What now, Soap?”

Soap smirked, tilting his head toward the far corner where Price stood, leaning against the counter, sipping a mug of tea. “Captain’s callsign. ‘The Bear.’ You ever wonder why?”

Gaz followed Soap’s gaze, looking at Price with mild curiosity. “You’re still on about that?”

“Aye, it’s a mystery!” Soap grinned. “Never got the story behind it. Big bloke like that, you’d think it’s got somethin’ to do with him tearing up an entire battalion single-handed.”

Price, ever the calm figure in their chaotic world, merely glanced over at them, unimpressed. He didn’t offer a comment, just raised an eyebrow before going back to his tea. Soap, not discouraged in the least, continued.

“Maybe he fought a bear once,” Soap mused, his grin widening. “Bare hands, too. Get it?”

Gaz snorted, shaking his head. “More likely he growls like one when you wake him up too early.”

Ghost, sitting slightly apart from the others, barely glanced up from the knife he was methodically sharpening. His mask obscured his expression, but his eyes flicked toward Price before returning to the blade. “Doesn’t matter what it’s for. Leave it alone.”

Soap, naturally, ignored that. “Come on, Ghost, you can’t tell me you’re not curious!”

“Not really,” Ghost replied in his usual flat tone, though there was a knowing edge to it that Soap completely missed.

Gaz, playing along with Soap’s game, leaned back in his chair. “Maybe it’s somethin’ simple. He’s gruff, keeps to himself. Like a bear in the winter—hibernating.”

“Or maybe,” Soap said, voice lowering as if he were about to unveil some great truth, “it’s somethin’ embarrassing.”

Before Soap could launch into another theory, the door to the mess hall creaked open. Nikolai stepped in, his movements slow and unhurried, like a man who had spent far too long awake and on his feet. His dark hair was slightly dishevelled, his eyes heavy with fatigue, but there was a comfort in the way he carried himself—as if he’d found his way back to the one place he could let his guard down.

Price, still standing by the counter, set his mug down and glanced over at Nikolai with that barely perceptible softening in his eyes. It was so quick, so subtle, that only someone paying close attention—like Ghost—might have noticed it.

Nikolai didn’t acknowledge the rest of the team as he walked over to Price. His steps were steady but had that unmistakable heaviness of a man half-asleep on his feet. Soap, Gaz, and Ghost watched in silence as Nikolai approached Price like it was second nature, his hands slipping around Price’s waist as he rested his forehead against the back of Price’s neck.

It wasn’t unusual for Nikolai to be close to Price; they’d been allies and friends for years, always sharing a mutual respect. But this… this was different. There was something deeply intimate in the gesture, something that didn’t belong in the usually guarded world of military protocol.

Nikolai murmured something in Russian, too soft for anyone but Price to hear. It didn’t seem to matter, though, as the meaning was clear in the way Price’s shoulders relaxed, the way he leaned back slightly into Nikolai’s hold. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, and the room, once filled with the low hum of conversation, went dead silent.

Price let out a soft chuckle—low, rumbling, completely out of character for the captain the team was used to seeing. Soap and Gaz exchanged glances, eyebrows raised, and Ghost, though still focused on his blade, was clearly aware of what was unfolding.

And then it happened.

Nikolai, still half-asleep, his voice a lazy slur, muttered, “Mishka…” The word slipped out, familiar and affectionate, and it lingered in the air like a gentle whisper.

Soap blinked, sitting up straighter in his chair. Gaz’s mouth opened slightly, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard. Even Ghost paused, the soft scrape of metal against stone coming to a halt.

“Mishka?” Soap echoed, incredulous. His eyes flicked between Price and Nikolai, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Did he just—?”

Before Soap could finish, Ghost cut him off, his tone even. “Means ‘Little Bear’ in Russian.”

Gaz’s head snapped toward Ghost. “You knew?”

Ghost shrugged, sliding the knife back into its sheath. “Not hard to figure out.”

Soap looked between Ghost and Price, trying to process what had just happened. “So… ‘The Bear’—that’s why?”

Price, still standing there with Nikolai comfortably wrapped around him, sighed softly. “Aye, that’s why,” he muttered, his voice resigned but amused. “It’s just an old nickname.”

“Mishka…” Soap repeated, grinning wider by the second. “This whole time, your callsign was ‘cause Nik calls you Little Bear?”

Price’s lips twitched into a smile, one that was more affectionate than anything else. He glanced over his shoulder at Nikolai, who was still resting against him, seemingly oblivious to the conversation unfolding around them. “It’s from years ago,” Price explained, though his tone was softer now, less defensive. “Back when things were… different. We’ve been together longer than most of you have been soldiers.”

Nikolai, finally registering the fact that the room had gone quiet and all eyes were on him, lifted his head slightly. His half-lidded eyes took in the scene before him, his tired brain slowly catching up to what had happened. He blinked, realisation dawning.

“Ah…” he mumbled, clearly too tired to feel any real embarrassment. “I… did not mean to let that slip.”

Soap’s laughter was loud and immediate, the sound echoing through the mess hall. “Oh, mate, this is brilliant! You, the legendary Captain Price, our fearless leader—‘Mishka’.”

Gaz, though clearly amused, was more subtle about it, shaking his head with a grin. “Well, it certainly explains ‘The Bear,’ doesn’t it?”

Price rolled his eyes, though there was no hiding the fondness in his expression as he looked at Nikolai. “You lot better not make a big deal out of this.”

“Oh, it’s a huge deal,” Soap replied, grinning from ear to ear. “Mishka! You’re never gonna hear the end of this one, Captain.”

Ghost, sitting back in his chair, observed the scene silently, his eyes barely visible behind his mask. Unlike Soap and Gaz, there was no surprise in his posture, no sudden shock at the revelation. Instead, there was an air of quiet understanding, as if he’d known for a long time but had simply chosen not to say anything.

He continued to sharpen his knife with steady precision, his gaze lingering on Price and Nikolai for a moment longer than usual. It wasn’t curiosity or judgement in his eyes—just a quiet acceptance, the kind that came from years of knowing someone without needing to pry into their personal life.

Price caught Ghost’s gaze from across the room, and for a brief second, something passed between them. A silent conversation, wordless but understood. Ghost, always observant, had likely pieced it together long before this moment. And now that the secret was out, he wasn’t about to make a fuss over it.

Soap, still grinning like he’d uncovered the greatest joke of the century, opened his mouth for another jab, but Ghost cut him off with a simple, “That’s enough, Johnny.”

The way he said it left no room for argument, and Soap, though clearly disappointed to be cut short, just raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright,” he muttered, but the grin stayed plastered on his face.

Gaz chuckled softly, shaking his head at the entire scene as he leaned back in his chair, the initial surprise wearing off. There was a comfortable shift in the air now—no awkwardness, no lingering questions. Just the usual banter and camaraderie.

Ghost leaned back in his seat, his knife forgotten for the moment. “It’s none of our business,” he said in a low voice, though there was a strange warmth to his words. “You two do what you need to.”

Price’s mouth quirked into a half-smile, something grateful in the look he sent Ghost’s way. He knew Ghost wasn’t the type to pry, but the unspoken acknowledgment meant something. Ghost had always been a man of few words, but when he spoke, it held weight.

As the room settled back into a relaxed rhythm, Soap and Gaz quietly snickering to themselves, Price gave a final, resigned chuckle. “Well,” he muttered, his voice light with amusement as Nikolai shifted against him, “there’s no point hiding it now, is there?”

Soap, still unable to resist despite Ghost's warning, leaned back with an exaggerated sigh. “Can’t believe I never clocked it. Should’ve known it’d be somethin’ soft.”

Gaz chuckled, crossing his arms. “Soft? The man’s still a bear, mate. Little or not, he’ll tear you apart if you push it too far.”

Price raised an eyebrow at the two of them, though his eyes held more amusement than threat. “You’re walkin’ a fine line, Sergeant,” he said to Soap, his voice carrying that familiar commanding weight, but the corners of his mouth tugged upward into a rare smile.

Nikolai, still leaning into Price, let out a soft huff of laughter, the sound low and full of affection. “Johnathan has always been my Mishka,” he murmured, eyes still half-closed with exhaustion but comfortable, safe, like this was the only place in the world he needed to be. “I did not realise you were all so curious about that.”

“We weren’t,” Ghost said, his voice quiet but carrying that same air of authority. “Well, some of us weren’t.” His masked gaze flicked over to Soap, who wisely clamped his mouth shut, though his grin remained.

Nikolai chuckled again, finally pulling away from Price just enough to stretch, though he stayed close. The years of camaraderie, loyalty, and love between the two were unmistakable now that it was out in the open. There was a calmness in the air—almost like the unspoken secret had been a weight lifted from their shoulders.

Ghost stood up from his seat, slipping his knife into his belt. “You two get some rest. We’ve got a briefing in the morning.” His tone was matter-of-fact, but there was an unspoken understanding in his words, a gentle nudge to let them know the conversation was over, and life would carry on as it always had.

Price nodded, grateful for the easy return to normalcy. “Mmm. You’re right.”

Price shook his head, already knowing the teasing would continue for days, but he didn’t mind. This was his team, after all—his family. And they’d earned the right to their jokes. “Get out of here before I start assigning extra PT,” he grumbled, though there was no real bite behind the threat.

Soap and Gaz exchanged looks, clearly amused, but they both stood and started to head for the door, their playful banter continuing as they went.

As they left, Ghost lingered for just a moment longer, casting one last glance at Price and Nikolai. There was no judgment in his look, just quiet understanding. He gave the faintest of nods, a silent acknowledgment of what he knew but had never spoken of.

With that, Ghost turned and followed the others out, leaving Price and Nikolai alone in the now-quiet mess hall.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, Nikolai leaned back into Price, his arms draped loosely around his shoulders, pressing a tired kiss to his cheek. Price, with a soft sigh, wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling him closer.

“It’s alright, you know,” Price murmured after a beat of silence. “Don’t have to hide anymore. At least not around them”

Nikolai smiled against his shoulder, his voice barely above a whisper. “According to your kostochka we did not hide as well as we thought.”

Price chuckled, a deep, warm sound, and squeezed his arms around Nikolai gently. “No, I s’pose not. Better not let him hear you call him that though, he’d have my head”

They stood like that for a long moment, the quiet of the base wrapping around them like a blanket. There was no rush to move, no need to explain anything. The world outside could wait, just for a little while longer.

Finally, Nikolai let out a soft breath, his voice laced with contentment. “Come on, Mishka. Let us get some rest. Long day tomorrow.”

Price gave a slow nod, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Nikolai’s head before pulling back. “Aye. You’re right, Nik.”

And with that, they turned, leaving the mess hall behind and heading towards their quarters, side by side, with the weight of secrecy finally lifted and the knowledge that, whatever came next, they’d face it together.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod #john price #john soap mactavish #q's 31 days of cod #kyle gaz garrick #q writes #call of duty fanfic #cod nikolai #nikolai belinski #nikprice #kostochka means little bone #according to my research at least #not my best and i might try this again but i fell in love with this idea and I had to get it out #so you get this oop

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