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cod-thoughts · 2 months ago

Text

Day 24 of 31 days of COD

Words: 3.5k

Relationships: Team as family, Ghost & Price, Soap & Gaz

Tags: Protective Ghost, Protective Price, Protective 141

Soap and Gaz get loaned out to a team, it goes about as well as can be expected. Ghost and Price are decidedly not happy with the outcome. Consequences and confrontation ensues Keep reading under the cut or on AO3

The rain came down in thick sheets as Soap and Gaz stood at the edge of the tarmac, backpacks slung over their shoulders, watching the approaching aircraft with heavy expressions. Neither of them spoke, the quiet tension between them far more telling than words. They’d been given the assignment only a few hours ago: a joint mission with another unit. Temporary, they were told. Just a routine thing to provide extra support to a team that, frankly, could use it. But they both knew the reputation of the unit they were about to work with—and it wasn’t good.

“Could be worse,” Gaz muttered, shifting his weight as he glanced over at Soap. “At least it’s not forever, right?”

Soap huffed, his arms crossing over his chest. “Aye, but the last thing we need is babysitting a team who can’t handle their own mess.”

Gaz shot him a sympathetic look. “Could be they’ve sorted themselves out by now.”

“Don’t hold your breath, mate.”

Both knew the odds were slim. The other team, led by Captain Reynolds, was notorious for sloppy operations. It wasn’t for lack of experience; they had the years and the medals to prove their capability. But that didn’t change the fact they’d made one too many reckless decisions in the field—ones that put good men in unnecessary danger. Price had tried to refuse the assignment, Ghost had outright scoffed at it, but the order came from above. There was nothing for it.

As they watched the plane land, kicking up spray from the rain-soaked runway, Soap let out a low sigh. "Let’s just get this over with."

Gaz clapped him on the shoulder as they started toward the aircraft. “At least we’ve got each other, yeah?”

Soap cracked a small grin. “Aye. There’s that.”

---

Once aboard the aircraft, Soap and Gaz were greeted by a few indifferent nods from the other team. It was clear from the outset that the team wasn’t thrilled about having outsiders tagging along. There was a stiffness in the air, the kind that spoke of pride and resentment. Neither of them liked it, but they kept their heads down, knowing the sooner they got this done, the sooner they could be back with Price and Ghost.

Reynolds, a stout man with greying hair, gave them both a quick once-over before barking out orders to the rest of his men. "You two—on recon detail. Keep your heads down, and don’t mess with the plan. We run a tight ship here.”

Soap raised an eyebrow but held his tongue. Gaz gave a noncommittal grunt, following Reynolds' lead. They exchanged glances as they fell into position, already knowing that this wasn’t going to be a smooth ride.

The mission itself seemed straightforward enough: retrieve intel from a small enemy outpost and get out before the alarm was raised. But it didn’t take long for things to unravel. Reynolds, in his usual fashion, had ignored a crucial piece of intel about the enemy’s patrol routes, leading them right into the path of an incoming unit. By the time anyone realised the mistake, it was too late. Bullets tore through the air, kicking up dirt and shrapnel, and Soap and Gaz were caught in the middle of the chaos.

“Bloody hell, move!” Gaz shouted as they scrambled for cover. He glanced over to where Reynolds and his men were already retreating, leaving them exposed. The panic in the other team was palpable, their lack of cohesion turning the skirmish into a disaster.

Soap was already firing back, keeping the advancing patrol at bay, but it was clear they were outnumbered. A bullet whizzed past, grazing his arm, but he barely flinched, too focused on protecting Gaz, who was pinned down beside him.

“Reynolds, we need cover!” Soap barked into his comms, but there was nothing but static in response. The other team had pulled back completely, leaving them in the open.

Gaz cursed under his breath, clutching his side where a stray round had nicked him. “Typical, isn’t it?” he muttered, his voice strained with pain. “Same bloody mistake.”

Soap clenched his jaw. “We’re getting out of this. Hold on.”

But just as they tried to make a break for it, the inevitable happened—another mistake. A well-placed enemy shot slammed into the ground near their position, sending both of them sprawling. Soap hit the ground hard, his breath knocked out of him as pain flared through his side. Gaz, already injured, was worse off, groaning as he tried to push himself up, his face pale.

“Gaz, stay down!” Soap shouted, pulling himself up despite the pain. His vision swam for a moment, but he forced it to clear. They had to get out. They had to survive this.

---

Back at their own base, Price and Ghost were monitoring the mission, keeping tabs on their men. But as the reports came in, their expressions darkened. Price's jaw clenched when he heard the comms fall silent from Reynolds’ team, but it wasn’t until he caught sight of the feed showing Soap and Gaz pinned down, clearly abandoned, that the red mist descended.

“What the bloody hell are they doing?” Price’s voice was low, dangerous, as he slammed a fist onto the table. Ghost stood behind him, silent but radiating a lethal calm, his eyes narrowing beneath his balaclava.

“I’ll kill him,” Ghost muttered, his tone flat but filled with cold fury. “He’s left them out to dry.”

Price didn’t need to be told twice. Within moments, they were moving, Price snapping orders as Ghost readied the extraction. There was no way in hell they were leaving Soap and Gaz to clean up Reynolds’ mess—again.

---

The med bay was dimly lit, the low hum of equipment filling the space as Soap and Gaz were checked over by the field medics. Both had taken a beating, though neither was willing to admit just how bad it was. Gaz sat on the edge of the cot, his side heavily bandaged from the bullet wound. Soap, nursing a deep graze on his arm and bruises from the blast, sat across from him. Both men exchanged tired glances, the weight of the mission and the injuries dragging at their already frayed nerves.

“Could’ve been worse, eh?” Gaz muttered, trying to break the tension with a weak grin.

Soap chuckled, though it came out more as a grimace. “Aye, next time we should try getting blown up properly. Might actually be a laugh.”

But despite their attempts to lighten the mood, there was no ignoring the dull throb of pain or the memory of how close they’d come to not making it out. Reynolds and his team had abandoned them at the worst possible moment, and the damage spoke for itself.

The door to the med bay slid open with a hiss, and the mood shifted instantly. Gaz and Soap looked up to see Price and Ghost enter, their expressions dark, simmering with an anger they both recognised all too well. Price’s eyes flicked over the two of them, taking in the bandages, the bruises, the faint wince that Gaz tried to hide as he shifted.

Ghost remained silent, but the tension radiating from him was almost palpable, like a shadow darkening the room. He stood by the door, his gaze hard and unwavering as he watched Soap adjust his injured arm, trying to act as if it didn’t hurt as much as it did.

Price stepped forward, his voice rough but low, as though he was keeping himself in check. “What the hell happened out there?”

Soap, always the one to try and smooth things over, shrugged as if it were no big deal. “We’ve had worse, Cap’n. Just a bit of a cock-up with the comms, that’s all. Nothing we couldn’t handle.”

Gaz nodded, trying to back him up. “Yeah, just bad timing. No harm done.”

Price’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t having it, and they knew it. “No harm done?” His voice was deceptively calm, but the fire beneath it was unmistakable. “You’re both sitting here, half-bloody mangled, because of another team’s negligence. And you’re telling me it’s fine?”

Soap glanced at Gaz, then back at Price, his usual bravado faltering slightly. “We’re still here, aren’t we?”

Ghost, who had remained quiet up until now, finally spoke, his voice low and dangerously calm. “This isn’t just about you two. It’s about how they handled the mission. They left you behind. That’s not a ‘cock-up.’ That’s a bloody betrayal.”

The room fell into silence as Ghost’s words sank in. Soap and Gaz knew it too—there was no excusing what had happened. But they weren’t ones to wallow in their own injuries. They’d made it out, and that was enough for them. For Price and Ghost, though, it wasn’t.

“Look,” Gaz started, trying to defuse the situation, “we’ve dealt with worse. You know we can handle ourselves. Reynolds and his lot, they… they just messed up, same as they always do. We weren’t expecting a hand-hold.”

Price’s expression darkened even more at that, his jaw tightening as he leaned in closer. “You shouldn’t have had to handle it alone.”

Ghost stepped forward, his presence like a storm building in the small room. His voice was quieter than Price’s, but somehow even more menacing. “Next time, we might not be able to pull you out. And it’ll be on their heads.”

Soap swallowed hard, realising that no amount of jokes or bravado was going to cool the anger simmering in the room. Price and Ghost, they weren’t just angry—they were furious. Furious that their men, their boys, had been put in unnecessary danger. Furious that this wasn’t the first time. And furious that it could’ve gone much, much worse.

“You’re both here,” Price said, his voice thick with emotion he didn’t often show. “That’s what matters.”

Ghost, standing still as stone, gave a small nod, his eyes never leaving Soaps. The cold anger in him seemed to crack slightly, giving way to a protective concern that few ever saw. “You did what you had to,” he said, his voice low. “We’re not letting this happen again.”

Soap swallowed, blinking back the sting of emotion he hadn’t expected to feel. Gaz let out a long breath, leaning back on his cot, his hand coming up to wipe at his eyes. The silence in the room wasn’t awkward—it was heavy with understanding.

As Ghost and Price left the dim hum of the equipment filled the room, Soap and Gaz found themselves alone. The adrenaline that had carried them through was gone, replaced by the heavy ache of bruises, the sting of their wounds, and the lingering fear that they hadn’t allowed themselves to feel earlier.

Gaz shifted on his cot, his face pale as he gingerly touched the bandage at his side. Soap watched him for a moment, his own arm cradled against his chest, before he broke the silence.

“Kyle,” Soap said, his voice quieter than usual, the usual banter absent. “That was… close.”

Gaz looked up, meeting Soap’s eyes, and for a moment, neither of them could find the words. The weight of what had happened—of how easily it could’ve gone wrong—hung between them. Finally, Gaz let out a shaky breath, his voice raw.

“I couldn’t get to you,” he muttered, his hand clenching into a fist on the cot. “I tried, Tav. I tried to cover you, but—”

Soap shook his head, cutting him off, though his voice trembled slightly. “Don’t. You did what you could.”

The guilt in Gaz’s eyes was painfully obvious. “I should’ve been faster. If I’d been quicker—”

Soap didn’t let him finish. He reached across, his fingers gripping Gaz’s arm tightly, he moved to sit on the edge Gaz’s cot, resting his head on Gaz. “We made it, Kyle. That’s all that matters.” His voice broke slightly on the last words, and he swallowed hard, the lump in his throat too much to ignore.

Gaz closed his eyes for a second, feeling the weight of Soap’s grip, the warmth him pressed against his side. He let out a long breath, his hand coming up to rest over Soap’s. “I couldn’t lose you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Not like that.”

Soap’s throat tightened, letting go of Gaz’s hand he wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into his chest. “You won’t. I’m not going anywhere.”

For a long moment, they sat like that, holding onto each other, both trying to swallow down the fear and guilt that had lodged in their chests. Soap, the one always quick with a joke or a reckless plan, was the first to blink back the wetness in his eyes, forcing a chuckle. “You’re stuck with me, mate. I’m too bloody stubborn to die.”

Gaz snorted, though it came out shaky. “Reckon you are.” His voice softened as he added, “Thanks for having my back.”

“Always,” Soap murmured, his voice raw with emotion. “We’ve got each other. We always will.”

---

The door to the debriefing room slammed open with a thunderous crash, the sound echoing off the walls as Price and Ghost stormed in. The room was immediately filled with a palpable, heavy tension that had Reynolds and his team snapping to attention. They had been lounging only moments before, but now, with the sheer force of Price and Ghost’s presence, the air seemed to thicken with an overwhelming sense of impending doom.

Reynolds looked up, surprise and irritation flickering across his face at the sudden intrusion. His casual demeanour faltered the moment he saw Price’s expression—dark and simmering, like a storm ready to break. Ghost, towering beside him, was silent, but the lethal calm in his posture sent an unspoken threat through the room.

“What’s the meaning of this, Price?” Reynolds asked, forcing a semblance of authority into his voice, though it wavered slightly.

Price didn’t answer right away. He stalked toward the centre of the room, the vein in his temple pulsing as he barely kept his rage in check. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides, the muscles in his forearms rippling as if it took every ounce of willpower not to lash out. Ghost followed in his wake, a silent, dangerous shadow, his eyes locked onto Reynolds with a coldness that made the room feel ten degrees colder.

“You left my men to die,” Price said, his voice dangerously low, each word dripping with fury.

Reynolds’ face flushed. He opened his mouth to protest, but Price was having none of it.

“No.” Price’s voice cut through the air like a whip, stopping Reynolds in his tracks. “You’ve made the same mistakes over and over again, but this time it nearly cost us. My men were nearly killed because of your incompetence.”

The room fell into a heavy silence. Reynolds shifted uncomfortably, his team glancing at each other with unease. None of them dared to meet Price’s gaze. The air was thick with tension, the kind that made everyone hold their breath, waiting for the inevitable explosion.

“We did what we had to, Price,” Reynolds finally managed, though his voice was weaker now. “We made the call to pull back. We couldn’t stay pinned down.”

Price’s jaw tightened, the tendons in his neck straining as he took another step forward. He was practically looming over Reynolds now, his eyes blazing with barely contained fury. “You abandoned them,” he spat, his voice still low but vibrating with intensity. “You left them to fend for themselves, without backup, without support—you left them to die.”

Reynolds stiffened, his pride wounded, but there was fear in his eyes now as Price advanced on him. “My team’s safety comes first,” Reynolds muttered, though it sounded more like an excuse than a reason. “We couldn’t afford to stay pinned down. We made the call.”

Ghost, who had been eerily silent up until this point, finally stepped forward, his presence like a dark storm crashing into the room. His voice was quiet, but there was something far more terrifying in its calmness than in any shout. “Your call,” he growled, “almost got them killed.”

Reynolds flinched, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop even further. Ghost’s entire body was tense, his hands flexing at his sides as though he was only barely holding himself back. His eyes were locked onto Reynolds with a stare so cold it could freeze a man where he stood. “You don’t get to make that call,” Ghost continued, his voice so low it was almost a snarl. “You don’t get to decide whether my men live or die.”

Price, still glaring at Reynolds, was visibly restraining himself from doing something far more physical than shouting. His fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles were white, and the edge of his voice sharpened. “Do you know what it’s like,” Price asked, his voice trembling with rage, “to watch your men—your family—get torn apart because someone didn’t do their bloody job?”

Reynolds swallowed hard, his face paling as the full weight of Price’s anger settled on him. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words died on his lips as Ghost’s hand twitched at his side, his fingers flexing like he was fighting the urge to reach for his knife. The tension in the room became suffocating, Ghost’s presence alone enough to make Reynolds' team go stiff with fear.

“You listen to me, Reynolds,” Price said, his voice barely more than a growl. He leaned in closer, his face inches from Reynolds’, and for a moment, Reynolds looked like he might bolt. “You ever put my men in danger again, and I’ll make sure you’re not worrying about the bloody enemy.”

Ghost, standing only a step behind, was silent, his eyes never leaving Reynolds. But there was a tension in the air, something crackling and dangerous, as though the smallest spark could set him off. It took everything he had to hold himself back, the only thing keeping him in check was the silent promise that Price had just made. A promise that they would make good on if Reynolds dared to make another mistake.

Reynolds swallowed hard, visibly shaken now, sweat beginning to bead on his brow. “Understood, Captain.”

Price lingered for a moment longer, his eyes boring into Reynolds’ as if daring him to say another word, to give him a reason to snap. But Reynolds remained silent, his face pale and his posture rigid under the weight of Price’s fury.

Without another word, Price straightened, his expression still dark, though the barely restrained violence in his posture had eased—just slightly. He turned on his heel, storming out of the room with Ghost right behind him, still radiating silent, simmering anger. The door slammed shut behind them, leaving Reynolds and his team in stunned, terrified silence.

The weight of what had just happened hung in the air like a noose, tightening around Reynolds’ throat. He had seen many things in his career, but nothing had prepared him for the wrath of Captain Price and Lieutenant Ghost—especially when it came to their men.

Later that night, Soap and Gaz were resting in their bunks, still sore but grateful to be back with their own team. The med bay was behind them, and though they were both worse for wear, there was a comfort in being surrounded by familiar faces.

Price, Ghost, and the rest of the squad gathered around them in the common area. No one said much at first; the air was thick with unspoken words and lingering tension. But eventually, it was Gaz who broke the silence.

“You two really went to town on Reynolds, didn’t you?” he asked with a small grin, though he winced as he shifted.

Price gave a short, humourless chuckle. “He deserved it.”

Soap, sitting nearby with his arm bandaged, shot Ghost a curious look. “I take it he won’t be asking us for help again?”

Ghost’s eyes glinted with something close to satisfaction. “Not if he knows what’s good for him.”

There was a pause, and then, almost unexpectedly, Price moved to sit next to Gaz, propping himself up against the headboard, his expression softening just a touch. “You did good out there, lads. You always do.”

Soap smirked. “Thought you’d say something like that. Could’ve gone better, though.”

Ghost gave a rare chuckle, his eyes flicking between the two. “Next time, maybe don’t try to out-stubborn a fuckin' grenade.”

As the tension slowly ebbed away, the team settled into a quiet camaraderie. They stayed close, sharing small conversations and rare moments of levity. Eventually, the exhaustion caught up to them, and they found themselves resting in each other’s presence—no one willing to leave just yet.

Price lay next to Gaz, his presence steady and comforting, while Ghost, ever the quiet one, moved to settled beside Soap, a silent show of support. Despite the day’s chaos, there was an undeniable warmth in the room, a deep sense of trust that bound them all together.

For now, the storm had passed, and in the quiet of the night, they found peace—together.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod #john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #call of duty fanfic #q's 31 days of cod #q writes #team as family #soap & gaz #time skips were weird for this one but i have a mid-term tomorrow so #not gonna be able to fix it i just edited it sadly :/#hopefully its not too bad oop 0_0 #if anyones reading these tags send in a prompt!#I'm missing a few whoops

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