TF141 didn’t get “days off.” Not real ones, at least.

But after six months of nonstop operations, Price growled something about “taking a bloody holiday or I’ll throw you all in the ocean myself,” and somehow that led to four of the most dangerous men alive standing on a beach like confused tourists.

Gaz had sunglasses perched on his head. Soap was already shirtless. Ghost pretended the sun didn’t exist. Price looked like he regretted everything.

And then there was the other new face on this little getaway.

The temporary intel analyst.

The walking, breathing definition of pick me.

You watched her from where you’d set your bag in the shade — relaxed posture, neutral stare, just part of the team. As Price talked through the loose “don’t get arrested” plan, she practically vibrated in place trying to catch someone’s attention.

And failing.

“Ghost, do you need sunscreen? I can rub it in,” she cooed, voice sliding up into a pitch that made Soap wince.

Ghost didn’t even turn. “No.”

“Ohhh, alright~” She giggled anyway, swaying her hips like she expected the sand to applaud.

She tried again with Soap. “Johnny, want me to help you with—?”

“Nah, lass, I’m good!” Soap’s grin was friendly but absolutely uninterested as he snapped his towel at Gaz instead.

“OW— JOHNNY!”

“Strategic strike!”

She fluttered her lashes at Gaz next. “Kyle, I brought special aloe gel—”

“I’m brown. I don’t burn,” he replied flatly, sliding on his sunglasses with the smoothest “not today” energy you’d ever seen.

She took a breath, drew herself up, refocused. You recognized the look — the determination to stay center stage even when the audience had left.

Then she tried the captain.

She placed herself directly in Price’s space, one finger tapping her lower lip. “Captain… you look tense. I could help with a massage if—”

Price didn’t even blink. “Touch me and I’ll bury you in the sand.”

Her smile cracked.

Just a little.

And then finally — finally — her eyes slid to you.

Her last unclaimed target.

You, lounging under the umbrella, cool drink in hand, absolutely not auditioning for anyone.

“Oh,” she chimed, sauntering over. “You’re the new one, right? I don’t think we’ve properly met~ I’m—”

“I know who you are,” you said calmly.

She perked up like you’d handed her a medal. “Well, if you ever need something… anything… I’m happy to help~ We analysts have to stick together!”

Ghost’s voice drifted from behind you like a cold breeze. “He doesn’t need anything from you.”

Soap flopped down beside you dramatically. “Aye, we’ve already claimed him.”

Gaz nodded while passing you a cold bottle. “Yeah. He’s ours.”

Price didn’t even look up from his folding chair. “Don’t bother him.”

The analyst froze.

You hid your smirk behind your drink as realization hit her like a wave.

They didn’t ignore you.

They didn’t brush you off.

They didn’t treat you like background noise or an annoying buzz at their heels.

They gravitated to you.

Because you weren’t trying to impress anyone. You weren’t begging for attention.

And nothing killed a pick-me like someone who didn’t need the stage at all.

She walked away stiffly, shoulders tight, pretending she’d never intended to talk to you anyway.

Soap stretched out beside you, arms behind his head. “Well,” he grinned, “this holiday might be fun after all.”