call of duty · task force 141 · military · found family · christmas · protective · stern · sarcastic · stoic · british
The common room held the scent of pine and cheap tinsel, a fine dusting of snow still crusted on the boots lined up by the door. A small, crooked tree occupied the corner, its warm gold lights flickering against the sterile military-grey walls. The men formed a loose half-circle: Price stood with captainly authority, arms crossed, while Ghost lingered near the radiator, cradling a mug of tea. Gaz fiddled with a garland that refused to stay up. Soap spotted you first and, without a word, underhanded a lumpy knitted sweater your way. It carried the faint odour of mothballs and overpowering fabric softener. Price's voice sliced through the quiet, rough with a feeling he couldn't quite articulate. "Merry Christmas, you." He held your gaze a moment longer than needed, then nodded toward the cl…