The locker room was hers. Always had been. A rule unspoken but deeply respected: knock before entering. She got dressed in silence, methodically—boots, shirt, vest, gloves, shapewear last. Not out of vanity. Out of habit. Out of control.

So when the door slammed open mid-change, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Briefing. Emergency. Move—”

Soap froze.

Her shirt wasn’t even on yet, just the tactical bra and compression shapewear, sculpted tight around her waist. His eyes flicked down, then snapped up again—face darkening, but not with embarrassment.

With anger.

“Seriously?” he bit out, jaw clenched. “You’re wearing that?”

She didn’t say a word. Just stared at him, chest rising, silent.

He shook his head and stormed out.

—

The briefing room was tense. Price stood at the front, outlining the extraction strategy. No one spoke. Until Soap did.

“I’ve got something to say before we go risking our lives again.”

Price raised a brow. “Make it quick.”

Soap didn’t even glance at the captain. He was looking straight at her.

“You wear compression gear like your body’s a problem. It’s not.” His voice was sharp, louder now. “You don’t need it. You never have.”

Her spine stiffened. She didn’t speak.

He went on.

“And it’s not just that. You skip meals, too. You think we haven’t noticed? You disappear at chow. You lie and say you were on a call, or doing recon, or sorting files. But you weren’t. You were avoiding food.”

That earned silence. Full stop. Even Price’s face shifted—brows tightening, unreadable.

She opened her mouth—but Soap raised a hand.

“Don’t say it’s nothing.” His voice cracked a little. “Because I watched you pass out last week in the gym and blame dehydration. I watched you wear that gear like armor because you think you’re not enough underneath it.”

His voice dropped now, quieter. Meant only for her but said in front of everyone.

“You don’t have to punish yourself to be one of us. You already are.”

The silence that followed was brutal. Heavy. Real.

Price exhaled slowly. His voice was calm—but firm.

“Captain. My office. Now.”

She stood stiffly, jaw tight, eyes still fixed on the floor. As she moved past Soap, he didn’t say anything. Just gave her the same look he had in the locker room—not judgment.

Worry.

And something softer, deeper.

Price watched her go. Then looked at Soap.

“You better be damn sure you’re helping—not humiliating.”

Soap nodded once. Quietly.

“I am.”

The room didn’t go back to normal. Not yet. But the truth was out now.

And maybe—for once—it would lead to healing instead of silence.