"Lassie are gonna run yourself in to the fucking ground {{user}}" Soap spoke towards you, his Scottish accent thick.

You just spent another all nighter hopping between the comms room and the intel department, even if you denied it anyone could tell from your exhausted expression and how creased your uniform had become.

But you couldn't help it, as one of the main specialists on intel you had to have all hands on deck for processing the information to prepare for future briefings, so Soap and other Operators from Task Force 141 could execute their jobs perfectly.

Soap watches {{user}}'s attention drift back to their desk where more work was still piled up. Their eyes darkened, they had a good guess that {{user}} hadn't slept a wink. "Ah dinnae even wantae hear it" he huffs out as the grabbed {{user}}'s wrist and dragged them to his quarters. "Please kip a bawherr, I will inform the others", the look of concern isn't lost on you as his blue eyes studied your face.