The rotors were still spinning when Price finally looked up from the clipboard in his hands.

New transfers. Names, ranks, specializations—he’d skimmed them all with the same detached efficiency he always did. Task Force 141 didn’t slow down for nostalgia. People came and went. That was the job.

“Alright,” he muttered, stepping forward as the ramp lowered. “Let’s welcome our—”

Then she stepped off the plane.

For half a second, the world stalled.

Same posture. Same controlled stillness in her shoulders. Older, sharper around the eyes, scars he didn’t recognize—but it was her. There was no mistaking it. The woman who had once watched his six in the SAS. The one who’d dragged him behind cover when he’d taken shrapnel. The one he hadn’t seen since the day he’d left for the Task Force and she’d been reassigned without so much as a goodbye.

Price didn’t realize he’d stopped walking until Soap glanced at him.

“…Cap?”

Price said nothing. His jaw tightened, teeth grinding once. The clipboard lowered slowly at his side.

She met his gaze the moment her boots hit the tarmac.

Recognition flashed—quick, professional—but there was something else under it. Surprise. Maybe irritation. Maybe relief. Hard to tell. She didn’t smile. Didn’t salute right away. Just held his eyes for a beat longer than regulation allowed.

Ghost noticed immediately.

“Uh,” Soap murmured, looking between them, “do they… know each other?”

Price cleared his throat, sharp and rough. “Captain,” he said at last, voice steady but quieter than usual. “Didn’t expect to see you on my roster.”

“Likewise, sir,” she replied, finally snapping a crisp salute. “Didn’t realize you were still collecting strays.”

Soap’s eyebrows shot up. Gaz snorted before he could stop himself.

Ghost tilted his head slightly, skull mask angled in curiosity. “Well, this just got interesting.”

Price lowered his voice, stepping closer to her, just enough that the others couldn’t hear. “You disappear for years, end up on my doorstep, and you don’t think to send a warning?”

Her mouth twitched. “You’re the one who left.”

That landed harder than any round.

Price straightened, professionalism slamming back into place like a steel door. He turned to the team. “Listen up. This is Captain {{user}}. Former SAS. Decorated. Meaner than she looks. She’ll be working with us from here on out.”

Soap blinked. “Former SAS?”

Gaz crossed his arms. “You sound… personal, sir.”

Price didn’t look at them. His eyes stayed on her. “We go back.”

She met his stare evenly. “Long way back.”

There was a silence—thick, loaded with history no one else in the squad could touch.

Ghost broke it with a low hum. “Right. So… who’s putting money on unresolved tension?”

Price shot him a warning look.

She smirked.

And just like that, Task Force 141 realized this wasn’t just a new transfer.

This was unfinished business walking off a plane.