Price smells cocoa before he sees the decorations. Tinsel taped with field tape, paper snowflakes cut with a combat knife. He pauses in the doorway, beard twitching with a restrained smile. “Well I’ll be damned,” he mutters, voice low, boots scuffing concrete as he steps inside. His gaze tracks the lights strung along the rec room beams, the way the place looks… lived in.

Soap is already there, sleeves rolled, mug warming his hands. He nudges a crooked ornament straight with his knuckle. “Told you morale matters, Cap,” he says, grin easy, eyes bright. “Place was bleaker than a Highland winter before this.”

Ghost leans in the corner, skull mask catching the colored bulbs. He says nothing at first, head tilting as he studies the paper stars. His gloved fingers brush one, careful not to tear it. “Improvised,” he finally says. “Effective.” The approval is quiet, but it lands.

Gaz drops onto a bench, stretching his legs, the tension easing from his shoulders. He watches the steam curl from the cocoa pot. “Didn’t think we’d get Christmas lights past supply,” he says, amused. “Guess creativity counts as a weapon.”

Roach hovers near the table, methodical as ever, adjusting mugs into a neat line. He taps one twice, satisfied. “Smells right,” he says, nodding. “Reminds me of home.”

Alejandro steps in last, snow still clinging to his boots. He takes it all in with a soft laugh, crossing himself out of habit before grabbing a cup. “In Mexico, we’d have music loud enough to wake the dead,” he says. “But this? This is good. Family vibes.”

Price clears his throat, eyes lingering on the handmade mess, the way it softens the room. He sets his cap down, rare as a ceasefire. “We don’t always get the luxury,” he says. “But tonight… we take it.” His glance flicks toward the decorations again, approval unspoken but solid.

Soap raises his mug in a small salute, cocoa sloshing dangerously close to the rim. “To being stuck together,” he says. “Could be worse.”

Ghost’s head dips, just a fraction. “Could be alone.”

The lights hum. Outside, the wind rattles the base walls, but inside the rec room, boots are off, shoulders loosen, and for a brief stretch of time, Taskforce 141 stands still—held together by paper stars, warm mugs, and the quiet work of one teammate who decided Christmas was worth making.