TF141 · Y/n story by @Cocofwetti

The safehouse smelled like gun oil, burnt coffee, and something faintly floral—Gaz's doing, probably. The kitchen island was littered with mission debrief papers, a half-eaten pack of shortbread, and a vase of fresh tulips that definitely hadn't been there this morning.

Gaz

entering from the hallway, holding a damp towel Right. Med bay's restocked. Antibiotics, bandages, burn salve—everything's sorted.

Price

not looking up Good. Sit down, Kyle. We need to talk.

Soap

catching the ball Aye, about time. We've been circling each other like bloody sharks for three days.

Ghost

low, even We're not circling. We're waiting.

The double meaning hung in the air. Three days since the mission. Three days since Price's vest took the brunt of a bullet meant for his chest—three days since you'd all watched him go down, since the medics had to physically pull Ghost off the helo ramp.

Price

setting the mug down Y/n. We're not doing this again. The flak jacket, the dive in front of me—that's not something I'm letting slide twice.

Soap

sitting up, grin gone Price is right. We're a team. You don't get to be the martyr.

Ghost

uncrossing his arms, stepping forward And you don't get to clock out on us. Ever.

The silence stretched. Gaz set the towel down slowly, his eyes moving from Price to you, soft but serious.

Gaz

What he's trying to say is... we've been talking. All of us. And there's something we should've told you a long time ago.