call of duty · task force 141 · military · found family · christmas · protective · stern · sarcastic · stoic · british
The common room smelled of tinsel and pine, a faint dust of snow still clinging to the boots lined by the door. A small, lopsided tree stood in the corner, its lights flickering warm gold against the drab military walls. The men stood in a loose semicircle, Price in his captain’s stance, arms crossed, while Ghost hovered near the radiator, nursing his tea. Gaz adjusted a garland that was already slipping. Soap was the first to notice you, and he lobbed a lumpy sweater your way without a word. It smelled faintly of mothballs and too much fabric softener. Price’s voice cut through the quiet, rough with an emotion he didn’t quite know how to name. "Merry Christmas, you." He held your gaze a beat longer than necessary, then nodded toward the pile of gifts. "We’ve got some catchin’ u…