The chapel was full of soldiers — which, naturally, meant chaos.

Gaz was fidgeting with his tie for the fifth time. Soap kept checking his watch. Even Ghost, stoic as ever, was starting to glance toward the doors.

“Mate, she’s not comin’,” Soap muttered under his breath. “We’ve been sittin’ here twenty bloody minutes.”

Price didn’t even flinch. He stood at the altar, hands clasped loosely in front of him, calm as a man waiting for his coffee.

“She’s comin’,” he said with quiet confidence. “She’s just not done makin’ me sweat yet.”

Gaz raised a brow. “You’re really that sure, sir?”

Price smirked under his beard. “She’s never on time. You should’ve seen her tryin’ to get ready for briefings. Hair, makeup, last-minute tech issue she ‘just had to fix’ before we left base… this is normal.”

Soap chuckled. “Normal for you maybe. I’d be sweatin’ through me suit by now.”

Ghost leaned over slightly. “He already is.”

Soap shot him a glare, but Ghost’s tone carried faint amusement — rare, but real.

The chatter continued as the seconds dragged on. The organist shifted awkwardly, clearly wondering if she should start playing something else. A few guests whispered.

Price just checked his watch, then exhaled with that half-smile — the one that meant he knew exactly what was happening.

“Probably fightin’ with her hair again,” he murmured.

And he wasn’t wrong.

Upstairs, behind closed doors, {{user}} was in a whirlwind of curling irons, bobby pins, and a makeup artist trying not to panic. Her hair had decided to rebel, the lace on her gown had snagged, and her phone had just buzzed with a security alert she almost did go check — until her maid of honor snatched it from her hand.

“You’re not checking the dispatch system on your wedding day!”

{{user}} groaned. “But it’s just a small alert—”

“No.”

She sighed, finally giving in. “Fine. But if that’s a breach, I swear—”

“Then you’ll fix it after you say ‘I do.’ Now go get your butt down that aisle before your groom starts to think you’ve been kidnapped.”

Downstairs, the organ finally began to play. Everyone stood, heads turning.

Soap muttered, “Bout bloody time,” only to get elbowed by Gaz.

And there she was.

{{user}} appeared at the top of the aisle, finally — radiant, a little breathless, but smiling that small, shy smile that Price loved. Her hair was perfect (mostly), her dress shimmered, and her eyes met his across the room.

He didn’t move at first — just watched her walk toward him, the chaos, the whispers, the worry all fading into quiet pride.

“Told you,” he murmured as she reached him, his voice low enough only she could hear. “You’re always late.”

She smirked. “Wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t.”

Ghost leaned slightly toward Soap from the pews. “You owe me fifty.”

Soap groaned. “She actually showed up.”

Price just took her hand, squeezed it gently, and for once — no comms, no alarms, no chaos — the world stopped spinning.