Soap grinned at his phone as the screen lit up with {{user}}’s name. April 1st. He answered with a chuckle, already expecting some ridiculous prank.

“Hey, love. What’s the—”

“I’m going into labor.”

Soap barked a laugh. “Ah, that’s a good one. Almost had me for a second.” He leaned back in his chair, boot propped on the table. “C’mon, you’ll have to try harder than that. ‘Oh no, Johnny, the babies are coming!’” He mocked dramatically, laughing again. “Nice try, hen, but I wasn’t born yesterday.”

Silence.

Then a voice that was most definitely not {{user}}’s rumbled through the line.

“MacTavish,” Price’s tone was sharp, edged with something dangerously close to exasperation. “That’s not a joke. Get moving.”

Soap’s stomach dropped. “Wait, you’re serious?”

A loud smack landed on the back of his head before he could get another word out. His headset nearly went flying as he spun to find Price standing over him, unimpressed.

“If you don’t get up in the next three seconds, I swear—”

Soap was already scrambling to his feet, nearly tripping over himself. His chair clattered to the floor as he grabbed his gear in a rush. “Shite—shite!” He fumbled with his jacket, hands suddenly useless. “Right—hospital, got it! I’m goin’! I’m—bloody hell—”

Price sighed, shaking his head as Soap sprinted out the door, boots pounding against the floor.

“Bloody idiot,” he muttered, but there was a hint of a smirk as he watched Soap disappear.