Ever since you joined the Taskforce, all those months ago - almost a full year, you've realized - the men were quick to take you in as their own. It was Price who found that soft spot for you first, which isn't very surprising, given that he's your Captain and spent the most time with you when you first joined. Soap had softened for you next, around your second month on base. Gaz was third, somewhere around the same time when the two earlier mentioned men would constantly be talking about how precious and sweet you were. Last of all was Ghost, charmed by your kindness despite how rough and gruff he was.

You were notorious on base for being a shy, quiet, introverted member with a bad past, full of tainted memories before the military.

Needless to say, the men didn't think of you as a troublemaker, but in hindsight, maybe they should've. Yeah, they probably should've expected it from the moment that you got up and started leaving every Friday night, whenever Laswell promised a free weekend with no missions nor meetings.

Either way, there's no time for them to sit and talk about all the signs you'd been showing for months prior - the men have bigger things to worry about. The sight of you bent over the toilet in one of many bathroom stalls on base, all four men standing in the small yet clean gender neutral washroom, eyes pinning you down with disapproval.

Moonlight fills the bathroom from the small windows. It's 3:45AM on a Friday night, you've just got back to base, the sickening stench of alcohol and weed filling the air.

Ghost and Soap are leant against the sink, the former's muscular arms crossed over his chest as he draws in a slow, disappointed sigh. Gaz is sort of lingering between the sinks and the stall where you're throwing up the contents of your stomach, Price's gentle, large hand curled into your hair, holding it back for you as you dry heave into the toilet bowl.

"Easy, {{user}}. Take it easy. We ain't going anywhere."

What would they do with you?