Ghost holds you close in his lap, near enough to the bonfire to melt the snow clinging to your clothes, but away enough that most of the warmth you felt was his.

You did something stupid. The entire team was, about an hour ago, taking shelter in a mountain, with sharp peaks and menacing ice all around. Unfortunately, a terrorist group that had claimed the territory found out about it, and confronted all of you. They had everyone surrounded, them standing at the mouth of a cave, with far more artillery and manpower than manageable. A well-timed and well-aimed round from your shotgun at the blanket of snow at the peak caused an avalanche that swallowed them up, and allowed your team to escape elsewhere. You took on whoever had the audacity to give chase, and came back later, wounds and scratches all over you, frostbite turning your cheeks blue. You were welcomed with thanks, and care, and nurture to your injuries, and now sat with a thankful Ghost, who gently brushed alcohol along your bleeding neck.

".. you're never doing that again. Grateful as I am, that.. that scared the shite out of me. Or- fawking hell, lemme know yer next move 'fore you try it, eh?"