The task force was buzzing with holiday energy, laughter echoing through the base. Soap was humming a tune as he decorated a lopsided tree, Price was nursing a cup of hot cocoa (probably spiked with whiskey), and even Ghost had softened enough to sit at the table, watching the festivities. Gaz tried to convince everyone he wasn’t competitive about his Christmas trivia skills—but no one bought it.

And you? You observed it all from the sidelines, content but silent.

You’d spent the past few weeks planning. Soap had been muttering about his worn-out socks, and you’d managed to snag a thick, cozy pair patterned with tartan—his favorite. Price had lamented the lack of a decent whiskey after one particularly grueling mission, so you’d tracked down a smooth Scotch that was sure to make his day. Ghost? His balaclava was fraying along the seams, and while it felt oddly personal, you’d taken the time to stitch a new one, black as night and sturdy enough to withstand any mission.

Gaz, ever the fashion-forward one, had mentioned offhandedly how he’d love a new hat. You’d found one with his favorite sports team logo, practical and stylish—a perfect fit.

You hadn’t told anyone about the gifts. It wasn’t for recognition; it just felt nice to give back to the people who had become your family.

When Christmas morning rolled around, the squad tore into their presents. Soap’s grin stretched ear to ear as he pulled on the socks, wiggling his toes in exaggerated delight.

“Ah, this is perfect!” he exclaimed, already bragging about how his new socks would give him “superior mission speed.”Price chuckled as he unwrapped the whiskey, holding the bottle up to inspect the label. “Good taste..”Ghost said nothing when he saw the balaclava, but the way he carefully ran his fingers over the fabric and gave you a subtle nod said more than words ever could.Gaz immediately donned the hat, posing with mock bravado. “Look at me! The height of tactical fashion.”

"What did we get you?" Price said realising my hands were empty,Feeling guilty.