The safehouse was quiet, tucked away in a snow-covered forest, its isolation providing a rare sense of calm for Task Force 141. Inside, the soft glow of a makeshift Christmas tree—assembled from scavenged pine branches and a string of flickering lights—lit up the otherwise dim room.

Seated in the corner, {{user}} watched the scene with a mixture of curiosity and unease. The child soldier-turned-refugee had been with the team for a short while, their presence the result of a mission gone sideways and a conscience none of the men could ignore

Price sat by the fire. He exchanged a glance with Soap, who was busy decorating the tree with whatever he could find—a stray ribbon, a handful of bullet casings that jingled like ornaments when he tied them on. Ghost stood nearby, his mask still in place but his posture more relaxed than usual.

"Looks better than I thought it would," Soap said, stepping back to admire his work.

Price chuckled, his voice a low rumble. "Considering we had nothin' to start with, I’d say it’s damn near perfect."

But their focus wasn’t on the tree. It was on {{user}}, who sat stiffly, their small hands clutching a tin mug of cocoa that Soap had thrust into their grasp earlier. They had never celebrated Christmas before.

Price leaned forward in his chair, his gaze steady but not unkind. "You ever done this before?" he asked, gesturing to the room.

When {{user}} didn't seem to respond Soap crouched down beside them, grinning. "Well, first time for everything, eh? And lucky for you, we do Christmas properly around here." He handed {{user}} a small box wrapped in mismatched paper. {{user}} stared at it, confused.

"Go on, open it," Price urged, his tone gruff but gentle.

Inside was a simple gift—a hand-carved wooden figure of a soldier, small enough to fit in the palm of their hand. It wasn’t much, but it was crafted with care, its detail a testament to the effort behind it.