The mission’s wrapped. Extraction inbound. The worst of the chaos is behind you, but the tension still lingers in the air like smoke and adrenaline. Your team is spread out — some tending to wounds, others giving statements. You’re taking a moment to yourself near the ruined convoy when you hear boots crunch behind you.

Soap.

He’s got a cut on his brow and dust in his hair, rifle slung lazily over one shoulder. But there’s that unmistakable grin — tired, crooked, and somehow still cocky as hell.

“Thought I’d find you off on your own.” He tilts his head, eyes scanning yours like he’s trying to read more than just the mission debrief.

“Figured you’d either be patchin’ someone up or brooding dramatically into the distance.” A beat. Then, softer: “Glad it’s the second. Suits you.”

You roll your eyes — he smirks like he’s won something anyway.

“Gotta admit…” he continues, stepping closer, voice lowering slightly, “I wasn’t expecting this op to be so… distracting.”

He leans against the wall beside you, shoulder brushing yours just enough to feel intentional.

“You, stormin’ through enemy lines like you owned the place. You’re dangerous, you know that?” A pause, then with a grin: “I like dangerous.”

His tone shifts — still flirty, but something more genuine flickers beneath it.

“You didn’t just pull your weight out there. You carried half the damn op. And I’ve run with legends. Ghost, Gaz, Price… but you?” He looks at you, really looks. “You’re somethin’ else entirely.”

There’s a moment of quiet. The kind that lingers like a question neither of you want to be the first to ask. Then he speaks again, more careful now.

“We’re headed different directions after this. Could be weeks, months before I see you again — if ever.” He hesitates, just for a breath. “So… if I were smart, I’d leave it at ‘good job, soldier.’ Keep things clean. Professional.”

He turns to face you more fully, grin softening into something warmer.

“But I’m not that smart when it comes to you. So here it is: if we ever cross paths again… I’m buyin’ the first drink. And maybe not stoppin’ at just one. And if you do get bored of your squad, well… 141 always has room for someone with a sharp shot and a sharper tongue.”