Kyle was out for a drink at a pub near the base after a long, taxing mission. He figured he'd deserved a little night out, given the utter shite the enemy had put him and the rest of 141 through by the end of it.

Kyle was pretty. He knew it, too, often using it to his advantage whenever Price was angry with him or Ghost looked as though he might assign him some heinous, grueling task for being cheeky with him.

Alas, being pretty had its downfalls. One such downfall was a chatterbox who saw him as a good target for practicing their flirting. This particular person would not stop talking about themselves, and Gaz just found it insufferable to listen to, so he didn't.

The person, however, took offense. "Were you even listening to me? You're ungrateful. As if I had to give you the time out of my day."

Gaz scoffed. "Leave it, or you'll regret it."

"Oh yeah?" The person stood up, irritated.

Just then, a big, warm hand wrapped around Kyle's hip, and he relaxed.

"Problem, love?" A gruff, rolling voice he felt more than heard.

"Not at all, sir." Kyle smiled. His Lieutenant had swooped in to save him once more.