Chapter Text
CHAPTER 1
"Buds in Spring"
Price was in an unusually good mood.
Humming along to some pop song blasting over the car radio, drumming his fingers in beat to the tune, he couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips. The music was the kind his team would bully him for enjoying, but he was currently alone, so the Taylor Swift song kept playing without the choir of groans he’d usually receive. (Although he swore he’d heard Soap sing this exact song in the barracks showers once.)
The landscape rolling by was painted in orange tones, as the sun rested gently on the horizon line. It would be dark once he arrived at his destination, around dinner time, just as he’d agreed with Ghost and Soap.
Getting several hours alone in his car wasn’t something that happened often, as usually transport had him cramped together with several loud and sweaty soldiers; it had its own charm, but he still appreciated the change of pace. It was why he’d chosen to drive all the way to the homely cottage in Scotland.
Orange gave way to twilight before he spotted the lazy curl of smoke rising from a familiar chimney. Within minutes, he was pulling into the gravel driveway and parking.
Soft light spilled from the windows, creating warm squares on the ground before the house. When Price exited his car, his ears were met with the sound of muffled music from inside, as well as impatient barking from the dogs that had undoubtedly heard the new arrival pull up. A Scottish voice was reprimanding the beasts, words becoming clear whe the front door swung open.
“-down, Vaquero, I trained ye better than this.”
Vaquero, the small, golden mutt, darted from its confines, practically squeezing through the door before it was all-the-way open. Price huffed an amused breath at the youngest dog, as it bounded excitedly towards him. Last time he’d seen it, the rescue had been barely bigger than a pup, but luckily it was still far too small to make a real impact when it crashed into the captain’s legs. The dog calmed down significantly as soon as he kneeled down and scratched behind its floppy ears.
“Steamin’ Jesus, sorry ‘bout that.” Price looked up from the dog and was met with the sight of a very sheepish-looking John MacTavish. “He’s still got all that puppy energy, somehow.”
“I couldn’t tell,” Price deadpanned. Then he stood, much to Vaquero’s disappointment, before wrapping his former subordinate in a tight hug. “Good to see you, John.”
“You too, John.”
Soap was already wearing his shit-eating grin, which was far too soon in the evening for Price’s liking.
“I think I preferred you calling me ‘captain’,” he said. A beast of a dog lumbered up to them at the mention of its name, which had both men chuckling. “Quite right, it would be confusing with two.”
Price greeted the Irish wolfhound named Captain with a gentle pat on its head. Its resulting wagging tail dunked into Soap’s leg, almost downing the man with its force. Good thing Vaquero was the only animal that leapt at newcomers, Price mused silently.
“I’m seeing double,” Soap teased, moving carefully out of range of the happy giant.
“I still haven’t forgiven you for naming him that, just because of his beard.”
“Ye gotta admit, it’s uncanny, Price.”
Price very much enjoyed that Soap and Ghost had named one of their precious dogs after him, but he’d never tell.
“Where’s your better half?” he asked instead, looking around for the other beast he knew resided on the lot.
“Harsh,” Soap smiled. “He’s elbow-deep in some stew. Bravo is waiting for him to spill some, so that’s why she’s not part of yer welcome committee.”
“Understandable.”
Price vaguely remembered the story of the time Soap had spilled an entire meal on the kitchen floor, right in front of the border collie. The best day of its life, the Scotsman had said. It was impossible for anyone to cook without watchful eyes now, despite the couple’s best efforts.
It was a pleasant evening, the temperature mild, and Price found himself breathing deep, taking in the darkening surroundings while Soap tried to wrangle Vaquero back inside. Finally, he followed the man into the house, Captain trotting steadily beside him.
The house smelled of stew, funnily enough. It filled Price’s senses, bringing along that warm, cosy feeling he’d come to associate with the small cottage. The fireplace crackled, shedding light on a black cat that didn’t even open its eyes to acknowledge the newcomer.
After hanging his light coat, the one he used in the spring, he followed Soap into the kitchen. The music was louder in here, playing from the radio in the corner. Soap instantly started humming along, as he stepped beside the large man currently stirring a pot.
Bravo trotted over when she registered the guest waiting on the kitchen threshold. The collie gladly accepted Price’s affection, rewarding him with dog slobber all over his hands, before dutifully returning to her spot beside the cook. Seeing it was now Soap stirring the stew, its tail wagged even harder in anticipation.
“Ach, ye cretin,” Soap scolded the dog without heat. “Dinnae think this is fer ye.”
Simon murmured something in the Scot’s ear, which made the other grumble fondly. Passing a hand softly over Bravo’s head, Simon went to welcome Price.
The captain took in his former lieutenant, as the terrifying Ghost sidestepped several dogs in the small space. God, did retirement suit the man. Gone was the mask and black grease paint around the eyes, revealing all the old scars, most faded. Freckles dusted his cheeks, colour on his skin from having allowed sunlight to meet it. The grey staining the younger man’s otherwise strawberry blond beard and hair reminded Price of his own silver hair.
Simon rested a hand on his shoulder. Price decided the other looked calm enough that he probably wouldn’t mind, and therefore pulled him into a rare hug. When Simon quickly untensed and returned the gesture, Price still felt slightly relieved.
Ghost pulled back, looking his guest over, eyes almost amber in the soft light.
“You’ve gone even more grey, cap. It’s only been a few months.”
“Alright, good to see you too, Simon.” Price lightly slapped the other’s arm. “Besides, pot and kettle. Your temples aren’t exactly colourful.”
“Hm, true. Hard to pretend you’re young in retirement. You on the other hand…”
“Yeah yeah, well I have a stressful job.”
“Really? What do you do?”
“Oh, you’ve probably never heard of it. It’s called the military.”
“Interesting. Sounds cushy.”
Soap groaned from the stove.
“Lads, please,” he said, exasperation almost hidden completely under the amusement. “Ye’re both very pretty. Silver fox is a good look.”
Simon returned to take over the cooking, pressing a quick kiss to the Soap’s forehead to placate him. Price was impressed that the small gesture still managed to bring a blush to the Scot’s cheeks.
“I’m sure if you had any hair on your temples, it’d be matching ours,” Price teased, accepting the cold beer Soap pushed into his hand. “Hard to tell, when you cling to that mohawk like a lifeline.”
“If it ain’t broke. Cheers.”
Soap clinked his own bottle to Price’s, and the two drank while Simon deemed the stew finished, moving it away from the stovetop. They filled their plates generously, moving to the table beside the big window. Bravo huffed in disappointment when it became clear no food would land on the floor this evening, before she joined the other animals in the living room.
“So, how’s that cushy military job treating you?” Simon finally asked, after they’d gone through their usual catch-up.
“Gaz doing alright?” Soap tacked on.
Price stretched, leaning back in his chair feeling sated from the homemade dinner. He definitely planned on eating better. Maybe he could ask Ghost about some of his recipes.
“Gaz is still soaring ahead, as always. Just came back from a big job, a risky one, and the kid managed zero casualties.” No one mentioned that Gaz was very much not a kid anymore. “He keeps impressing the higher-ups. He’ll be running the 141 soon.”
“Co-captains, eh? Think ye’ll manage tha’?”
“Hm, that’s actually part of why I’m here,” Price finally revealed. “I-”
The pitter-patter of paws interrupted him. The pets entered the room, having heard the sound of utensils cease, signalling their dinner-time. A lazy purr rose from where the black cat rubbed its head against Price’s leg.
“Hello Spectre.” The captain gently stroked the cat’s fur, before it quickly decided it was done with the interaction. “Feed your kids, I’ll tell you in a bit.”
“Cliffhanger,” Soap groaned, already standing and gathering their dishes while Simon headed to take care of the animals. They followed him like loyal disciples. Price felt his eyes crinkle at the domestic image.
“Go relax in the living room, old man,” MacTavish added over the sound of running water, as he cleaned the plates. “Coffee? Whiskey?”
“Both.”
“Irish it is.”
Price settled in the armchair near the fire, the one he knew had been dubbed his chair because no one else used it. His body ached in the soft cushions, reminding him how rare these moments of true respite were.
Captain was the first to join him in the small haven that was Simon and Johnny’s living room. The beast rested its head on Price’s lap with a content sigh, enjoying the fingers that threaded through its rough fur.
Not long after did the rest follow, Ghost stoking the fire while Soap handed out their warm drinks (two irish coffees and a tea for Simon). Captain had decided to fall asleep on Price’s feet, and Soap joked that the older man had planned that so he wouldn’t have to move.
The other men settled on the couch, Soap leaning into Simon’s side, and a quiet befell the house. The otherwise elusive Spectre was snuggled against her Scottish owner. He was her favourite.
“Alright, the suspense is killin’ me,” Soap finally broke. “Wha’ are the big news, cap?”
Price sat up a bit more straight, nursing his warm drink. Curiosity was shining in both pairs of eyes watching him, although Simon was more successful at subduing it.
“Kyle doesn’t know this yet,” Price began. “But I wasn’t kidding about the promotion.”
“Wait-” Soap lit up like a christmas tree. “You’re actually gonna be co-captains?”
“Or is he getting his own squad?” Simon followed up, eyebrows creasing in thought as he was already stuck in the practicalities. He received an elbow to the ribs for his efforts.
“O’course not, ya numpty,” scolded his partner. “That would mean Gaz leaving the 141. No way in hell.”
“The task force won't need two captains, Johnny-”
“Why no’? It did fine with two lieutenants-”
“We won’t be co-captains,” Price interrupted, despite enjoying the pair bickering just like old times. He’d missed this. Hopefully he could visit more often from now on.
“Oh.” Soap looked a little crestfallen. “Gaz is transferring?”
“I’m retiring.”
The looks he received had Price chuckling.
“Don’t know how that’s a shock,” he continued. “I’m getting too old for this damn job anyway, and now I know the 141 will be in good hands.”
Soap finally shook the initial surprise, his face splitting into a crooked grin. He leaned over to pat the captain’s knee, disturbing the snoring cat in the process who jumped away with an annoyed meow.
“Congrats, sir. Our dog is gonna outrank ya.” There was genuine joy in the Scot’s eyes at the news. “Guess I really gotta call ye John now-”
“Price will do-”
“Hard to imagine ye without tha’ job, to be frank. What will ye do without yer precious paperwork?”
“Get less grey hairs, for one.”
“Too late fer that.”
“Oi!”
Simon huffed a small laugh beside them. He was resting against the couch cushions, looking more relaxed than Price had seen him in a long time.
“Welcome to the oldies club,” he smiled at the captain.
“We all know I’m the only one here that’s actually old.”
His boys were only in the beginning of middle age. Their early retirement had become an easy joke to make at expense of their age, the illusion helped along by Soap’s hearing aid and Ghost’s limp on frosty days.
“It’s gonna be hard to settle down at first,” Simon stated, not one for sugarcoating. “If you need help-”
“Or a distraction…” MacTavish added with mirth.
“I know where to find you.”
They finished their drinks in unbothered silence, the news settling as reality. Surprisingly, it was Ghost that spoke first.
“Gaz will be a good captain.”
A tail thumped at the words 'good captain', making Price snort as he reached down to scratch the wolfhound's head.
“That he will.” As it usually did, pride swelled at the mention of the young man.
“As long as he won’t be too busy visiting his ol’ pa,” Soap teased.
“That’s what I have my other boys for,” Price shot back easily.
“So when are ye planning on tellin’ the new boss?”
“Soon. I have a final mission coming up. Once that’s done, Kate and I will tell Garrick about his promotion and I’ll have the honours of doing his ceremony, before I resign.”
“I love knowing stuff he doesn’t,” Soap grinned. “What’s this mission? When are ye back?”
“That’s classified.”
Soap chuckled, but sobered when Price didn’t elaborate.
“Wait, really?”
Usually, the team didn’t withhold information from Ghost and Soap, despite them technically being civilians now.
Ghost’s brow furrowed.
“Your last job, and it’s classified,” he said slowly. “Sounds dangerous.”
Price waved his hand, trying to ease the tension.
“No need to worry,” he hurried to appease. “It’s most likely nothing. I’m guessing I’ll be back in a couple of days, three at most. I’m not interested in dying this close to the finish line.”
Soap’s smile was a tad more strained, but he still nodded firmly at the captain's words. Simon worried at his lower lip.
“Thought we’d all die on the job.”
Ghost’s sudden confession was tinged with heaviness, signalling he was getting lost in his own head. Soap hooked his arm in the larger man’s, interlocking their fingers.
“An’ I thought I’d never like dogs.”
“I never thought I’d be happy to visit Scotland,” Price said, moustache twitching at the playful glare sent his way.
Simon blinked, the faraway look disappearing.
“It’s good that things change, then,” the lad concluded, smiling down at his scarred hand, where it was dwarfing Soap’s.
“Aye.”
“Yeah.”
The next morning was somehow both rainy and sunny, making Soap vehemently rant in defence of Scottish weather when Price commented on it.
Both men wrapped him in hugs when they were saying their goodbyes, Soap’s so tight it was hard to breathe. Each animal got a pet in farewell, Vaquero jumping up to lick at Price’s nose when he leaned down.
“That FNG better be well-behaved next time I visit.” It amused him how both men still straightened their postures like good soldiers at his words.
“Aye, sir.”
“And have your fancy clothes ready for Gaz’ ceremony.”
“We will.”
“And take care,” Price finished, gaze softening as he took in the domestic pair, still in their sweats under the raincoats.
“You too,” they both responded in sync, Soap adding: “See you soon for bridge nights and afternoon cake at the retirement home.”
Price flipped off the Scot, even as they were both laughing. It quickly turned into a wave, before he settled back in his car. The engine purred to life, gravel crunching under the tires.
In the rearview mirror, two waving figures grew smaller, before disappearing as he turned a corner.
Warmth filled his chest at the prospect of the future. Once he had thought the job was his life; probably because it actually had been. He had resigned himself to an early, violent death on a battlefield. Recently, he had started accepting the chance at the opposite.
Like the fresh buds on the trees rushing past the car window, Price felt a new start coming with spring.
A week later, Soap opened the creaky cottage door to a haggard-looking Lieutenant Kyle Garrick.
“Gaz? What're ye doing here?”
“It’s Price. He’s MIA.”
