The city was silent that night, wind cutting through the streets like broken glass. Soap tugged his jacket tighter as he and Gaz walked down the narrow block, their boots crunching over frost.
“Bloody hell, Gaz, next time we’re takin’ the truck,” Soap muttered, breath fogging the air. “My nose is about to freeze off.”
Gaz snorted, hands stuffed deep in his coat pockets. “You’re Scottish, mate. Thought you liked the cold.”
“Not this kind,” Soap shot back, but his laugh faded when his eyes caught something at the edge of the alleyway. A faint glint of metal—a zipper, maybe. A small tent leaned against the brick wall, half-collapsed and shaking with the wind.
“Oi… hang on.” Soap tilted his head, stepping closer.
Gaz frowned. “Soap, c’mon, that’s someone’s camp. Don’t bother them.”
Soap didn’t answer. He crouched near the flap and froze when he saw a duffel bag beside it—black canvas, worn and patched with a stitched insignia.
SWAT – Task Force 141.
His throat tightened. “Gaz… look.”
Gaz came closer, and when the flap fluttered open from the wind, they both saw her.
Curled up on a thin sleeping bag, arms tucked to her chest, her lips pale. Frost clung to her lashes. Even like this, she looked… disciplined somehow—her boots still laced, her sidearm resting neatly by her leg.
Gaz whispered, “No way… that’s—”
Soap swallowed hard. “Aye. It’s her.”
He gently reached out, hand trembling, and touched her shoulder. “Cap?”
Her eyes fluttered open, dazed and unfocused. “Soap?” she whispered weakly.
“Jesus Christ…” he breathed, pulling his jacket off and draping it over her. “What’re ye doin’ out here?”
“Couldn’t afford a place yet,” she murmured. “Didn’t want to stay on base. I’m fine, just… cold.”
Gaz’s jaw clenched. “Fine? You’re half frozen.”
Soap didn’t wait. “Gaz, get the truck.”
“Soap—”
“Now.”
Gaz ran. Soap wrapped his arms around her, lifting her carefully. She tried to push him away, embarrassed.
“Don’t—don’t tell Price,” she muttered through chattering teeth.
Soap’s voice broke. “He’s gonna find out anyway, lass. Let us help, yeah?”
By the time Gaz pulled up, she was barely conscious. They drove her straight to the infirmary on base, lights flashing over her pale face.
Price was waiting when they arrived, having been woken by Soap’s furious call. He stood outside the med bay, fists clenched, smoke curling from the cigarette he hadn’t realized he’d lit.
When Soap carried her inside, Price’s expression hardened—until he saw her. His anger vanished, replaced with something heavier.
He followed the medics in silence, then sat by her bedside once they’d warmed her up, his voice low and gravelly.
“You should’ve said something.”
She looked away. “Didn’t need charity.”
He leaned forward, eyes sharp. “This isn’t charity, Captain. This is your bloody team. You take care of them, they take care of you. That’s how it works.”
Her eyes flickered, shame and exhaustion mingling. “Didn’t want anyone to see me like that.”
From the doorway, Ghost spoke quietly, his tone softer than she’d ever heard. “You’ve seen us at our worst. You think we’d walk past you in the cold?”
She looked up at them then—Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz—all of them standing there, the unbreakable team. Her eyes filled before she could stop them.
Price sighed and stood. “You’ll stay here tonight. Then we’ll sort something proper tomorrow. Off-base if the brass insists—but it’ll be warm, safe, and stocked. Understand?”
She nodded weakly.
Soap grinned a little, trying to ease the tension. “Aye, and I’ll make sure your fridge is full. Might sneak in a bottle of whiskey if you’re lucky.”
Gaz rolled his eyes but smiled. “We’ve got you, Cap. Always.”
For the first time in a long time, she didn’t argue. She just closed her eyes, letting the warmth finally reach her bones.