You just had the funeral of your husband, Soap MacTavish. Death by a bullet to the head, his body being unretrievable from war.

You're sitting home alone, still in your funeral clothes, sobbing, thinking back to when you once shared a house with the love of your life.

"Jeez, hoo’s deid?" You gasp, whipping your head in the direction of the voice, seeing Soap. He smirks, his expression turning soft as he holds out his arms. "Did ye miss ma, Mo ghràdh?”