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Price trusted Gaz with every bone in his body—with his life and with the mission.
Gaz was good—exceptional even—at his job; he was an outstanding operator. Even then, Price couldn’t help but worry on every mission.
He wasn’t worried that Gaz would fail the mission but rather that Gaz wouldn’t come out alive; that was the risk they signed up for everyday. Price knew, that was the job. All of the task force knew that, one day, only their dog tags would return to base. It hurt Price to think of it like that but it was inevitable.
They may just be a task force but everyone knew it was like a family no matter how the higher-ups saw them. To lose any one of them would be devastating and Price knew he would never fully recover.
It felt as if he were counting his blessings every time they went on a mission. One slip up or one piece of bad intel and his team would disappear.
Ghost, Soap, Gaz… Hell, he couldn’t imagine the team without any one of them.
The thought permanently haunted his mind: Was this going to be that mission?
“What’s your status, Gaz?” Price asked over comms.
A soft static flowed in between the silence. “In position, sir,” Gaz reported back.
Gaz was stationed at the back entrance of the building with Price and Ghost at the front. On the roof of the adjacent building was Soap, ready to snipe.
According to the blueprints, the front rooms were significantly larger and contained more sections compared to the back rooms. If Soap was accompanying Gaz, Price’s mind would have been put at rest, but a sniper was more valuable in the situation and he had to trust Gaz. Price didn’t want to come across as overbearing or babying Gaz, who was a perfectly capable Sergeant.
“On my mark,” Price said into the comms. After a few beats, he gave Ghost a nod. “Go.”
Ghost beat in the door and entered, Price following closely behind. Ghost and Price moved methodically, searching each nook and cranny with their rifles firmly braced against their shoulder.
The rooms were clear and there were no signs on their target.
“Front rooms clear,” Ghost announced.
Gaz’ voice came back onto comms. “Back rooms clear. I’m approaching on your six.”
“Copy,” Price said, soon seeing Gaz join them. “Soap, do you have visual on the target?”
“Negative, sir. No movement up here.”
“‘Think they heard chatter and fled already, Captain?” Gaz asked, letting his rifle fall into a resting position, barrel aimed towards the floor.
Price observed the room and approached a table that had paper scattered all over. It was the target’s plans, maps, and diagrams. He began inspecting the contents as he saw Gaz moving towards the back rooms probably to find any clue as to where the target fled.
The papers held some valuable information but what stood out was the mug sitting on the corner. Price pressed the back of his hand against the glass. It was still warm.
The target couldn’t have gotten far or they were still inside.
Before Price could report a word, he heard Soap hastily yelling over comms, static intercepting some of the shout. “Gaz! Watch out!”
A gunshot rang through the air. And another.
No.
No.
Price dropped everything and ran, not even knowing if Ghost followed.
“I don’t ‘ave visual anymore,” Soap said, panic apparent in his voice.
Price burst into the back room, ready to kill. Seeing no standing members, he lowered his rifle. His eyes first landed on the body near the closet—blood pooling beneath the head. The body matched the description of the target.
“Target down,” Price quickly reported. Ghost approached the target, kicking away a pistol from the limp hand.
Price’s eyes quickly moved to the other body on the ground.
It was Gaz.
Price ran to his side and knelt down to observe the damage. Gaz’ hand was pressed over his stomach area, right underneath his plate carrier. There was blood seeping through his clothes and drowning his hand.
“Man down. We need medical!” Price shouted into the comms. “Now!”
Gaz coughed, blood now running from his lips.
“Bloody hell, Gaz.” Price practically threw his rifle from his hands to tend to his sergeant.
He lifted Gaz’ hand and spotted the wound; it looked bad. Price gently removed the rifle from Gaz’ grip and began unbuckling the plate carrier to get better access to the injury. Once done, Price pressed his own hand against the gun shot, hoping the pressure would alleviate the bleeding until medical arrived.
“Talk to me, Garrick,” Price ordered. “Can you breathe?”
“Sor’y, Sir,” Gaz choked out, groaning in pain from the sudden pressure pressing on the injury. But that was good, at least Gaz was breathing and he wasn’t in shock yet.
“Don’t worry about it,” Price said, running his other hand under Gaz to feel for an exit wound. His fingers registered the feeling of blood and torn clothing—thank God, it was a through and through. “Bullet is out, you’ll be alright.”
Price didn’t know if Gaz would be alright. The blood began to pool on the floor and he didn’t know how much more the sergeant could lose.
Gaz let out a joyless laugh. “R-eally?
Before he could answer, Ghost spoke. “Evac and medical are 2 minutes out.” Price nodded to acknowledge Ghost but kept his eyes trained on Gaz.
“Really, son,” Price said to Gaz, giving him a reassuring smile. A part of him was just trying to reassure himself that Gaz would make it out— that today wouldn’t be that day.
The distant helicopter buzz began to louden at each second that passed. Thank God the wait was over, sitting on the ground, unable to help Gaz beyond putting pressure on the wound was absolute hell. But Christ, now he would need to get Gaz into the helicopter.
“Can you stand?” Price asked, hand still firmly pressed against the entry wound.
“I-” Gaz coughed. “Can try.” He began attempting to sit up, groaning at the pain in the process.
Price wrapped his arm around Gaz’ shoulder. “Ghost, you take his left.”
Ghost nodded and similarly helped support Gaz. They hoisted him to his feet, ignoring the winces and groans Gaz bit out. Gaz rested his weight on them as they led him out of the building.
It was a lengthy process but they were eventually able to walk Gaz outside to where the helicopter was waiting. Inside the helicopter was Soap and two medical personnel.
“Jesus Christ,” Soap commented as he assisted the two in loading Gaz into the aircraft and laying him across the floor.
By now, Gaz was looking scarily pale—blood drained from his face and his eyes only half open. “Com’on, Garrick. You’ve gotta stay awake,” Price said, patting Gaz’ cheek. “Just for a little longer, eh?”
The medics began to take over, allowing Price to free up his hands. He didn’t pay attention to a bit of the medical jargon going on; he just wanted to keep Gaz awake and conscious.
“No ‘You broken’ this time?” Gaz humored dryly, his voice barely transmitting over the roar of the helicopter.
Price couldn’t find the heart in him to chuckle along. He pulled off his gloves, throwing them aside, and squeezed Gaz’s hand, not caring for the blood that was transfering. Whether he was trying to reassure Gaz or himself was unknown.
“Not this time, Garrick. Maybe later.”
“Don’t look at me like ‘hat, sir,” Gaz said, words becoming weaker. Price knew what ‘look’ Gaz meant—worry, panic, fear. “You said it yourself. I’ll-I’ll be fine.” Gaz returned Price’s grip, softly squeezing back.
Price bit the inside of his mouth, his head falling. With a gunshot wound in that location, with that much blood loss, chances seemed slim. He couldn’t bring himself to lie again, to himself and Gaz. “You like the beach?”
“Y-yeah,” Gaz rasped. “It’s lovely.”
“After…this, you should go visit. It’s quite warm this season,” Price trailed on, unknowing if there would be an ‘after’ for Gaz. The tone of his voice was not as joyful as he intended, hoping the thought of a beach visit would encourage Gaz to keep fighting.
The sergeant hummed. “Finally d-due for a break.”
Gaz was indeed. They rarely take time off and he’s sure Gaz hasn’t taken one in ages. It only makes Price wonder about Gaz’ family back home. What would he say to his family if the sergeant never returned?
“You’ve earned it, son.” Price saw Gaz’ lips lift into a slight smile just for a second before falling back.
As Price saw Gaz’ eyes drifting again, he gave the other’s hand another firm squeeze. With Price’s free hand, he pressed two fingers on Gaz’ wrist, feeling around for a pulse. Although it was faint, just the feeling of it eased Price’s trepidation.
“Gaz, stay with me,” Price said but saw no response from the sergeant. “Sergeant!” Gaz groaned at the shout, and his eyes slowly focused on Price.
“Sir.” His voice was but a whisper.
Price wasn’t sure what else to ask to keep the other awake but Gaz seemed to like the beach. “Tell me,” Price began, relieved to see Gaz conscious again. “What’s your favorite part of the beach?”
“T-the ocean.”
“Go on,” Price probed tenderly.
“The waves-” Gaz said, struggling and slurring with each word. “Are b-beautiful.”
The edges of Price’s lip turned up slightly. “That they are.” He hoped Gaz would be able to visit at least once more.
Price peered out the window; he could see the hospital in the distance, thank God. A small trace of relief settled, knowing it was just a little longer. It was all going to be okay because Gaz was strong and he’d pull through.
“Almost there, Gaz. Hang in there,” Price said.
Soon the helicopter began to descend onto the roof of the hospital. Waiting on the roof were a group of doctors and nurses with a gurney. The second the helicopter landed, the personnel came rushing towards them.
As they transferred Gaz to the gurney, Price held on as long as he could to Gaz’ hand.
“Sir, he needs immediate surgery, you’ll have to let go,” one of the doctors shouted over the helicopter’s rumble.
“I’m his Captain,” Price insisted.
He wanted to make sure Gaz would be alright; he needed to see with his own eyes. He didn’t want Gaz to be alone.
“Sorry, sir. It’s protocol.” The doctor shook her head and the nurses began rolling the gurney away, letting his hand slip from Gaz’ weak grasp.
A hand was placed on his shoulder, snapping his eyes away from the fleeting team of medics, it was Ghost. “Let’s go, Captain,” Ghost said remorsefully. “Wash up and come back.”
Price looked down at himself. There was blood splattered on his gear and smeared all over his hands. A part of him wished it was his blood instead of Gaz’.
“Yeah,” Price finally replied.
He pried his attention away from the blood and stepped back into the helicopter, looking back once more. He took a seat next to Soap and let out a shaky breath he’d been holding in. Price rested his head in his hands, elbows propped up on his knees.
He wasn’t a religious man but God, he was praying that Gaz would pull through.
When they arrived back at base, not a single soldier approached them as they walked through the halls. They all carried a somber stare and a concerning amount of blood caked both Price and Ghost; the other soldiers could probably take a guess as to what happened. Frankly, Price was pleased at their unapproachability since he felt as if he were on the verge of unwittingly snapping at the next person to talk to him.
Price immediately made a beeline to his quarters. He stripped off his gear and threw them into a pile at the corner of the room. There was blood all over his skin so he settled in front of the sink before doing anything else.
Price stared at his reflection in the mirror. Blood was smeared on parts of his beard and forehead—he must have touched his face earlier when the blood on his hands was still wet.
He scrubbed each finger in a clumsy and haste manner, unable to control the constant shaking of his hands. Even as Price scrubbed vigorously, the blood still stuck underneath his nails and in between the wrinkles. He wishes it didn’t; he didn’t want to be tortured by the idea that he would always have Gaz’ blood on his hands.
After, Price splashed water onto his face, rubbing roughly without coordination. Even his precious beard got soaked and ruffled in the process. He couldn't care less though, rushing to dry his face and dripping beard with any towel in reach.
It wasn’t long before he suited up once again—this time in clean, civilian clothing—to head back out. Price grabbed a set of keys to one of the trucks and saw Ghost approaching on his left, also in changed clothing.
“I’m driving,” Ghost stated in a matter of fact tone. His hand held out, motioning for Price to pass over the keys. Price did so; both he and Ghost knew he was in no state to drive or argue.
The drive to the hospital was even more excruciating than the helicopter ride back to base. It was quieter and longer with nothing to keep Price busy. He would be more comfortable if he had something to do or was being productive to keep him from getting lost in thoughts.
He couldn’t help but to feel utterly useless.
When they reached the hospital, Price wasted no time, quickly exiting the vehicle the moment Ghost hit the breaks.
“You can handle things at the base, eh?” Price checked. He trusted that the lieutenant would keep the base in order for however long the hospital visit would last. He expected the visit would include at least a good few hours of waiting too.
“Of course, sir,” Ghost replied with a nod.
“Thank you, Simon.” Price truly appreciated the lieutenant; he genuinely wouldn't know what he’d do without Ghost. “You’re a godsend.”
“Keep us updated on Garrick.”
Price gave Ghost a reassuring smile and nodded in response as he shut the passenger side door.
Inside the hospital, Price hastily located where to check in. At the reception desk sat a middle aged lady who stared intently at the screen in front of her, clicking away at the keyboard. Her rapid typing paused when Price approached.
“Hello, who are you here to visit?” She asked, not bothering to look up.
“Kyle Garrick,” Price promptly replied.
“Okay, one second.” The receptionist’s typing began again, followed by a few clicks of the mouse. Price drummed his fingers impatiently against the desk.
“Sorry, it seems he is still in surgery,” she said in a monotone voice. “What is your name?”
Small wins—Garrick was still fighting and he was in good hands.
“John Price.”
She typed for a few more seconds before responding. “Okay, we will let you know when he is allowed visitors.”
“I see, Thank you.”
Price retreated from the reception desk and looked about the waiting room. The room was sparsely filled late at night so he took the open seat closest to the hallway leading to the patient rooms.
It didn’t take very long for Price to regret not bringing a go-bag or his laptop. All he could do was stare at the ceiling or around the room as he waited. The stench of disinfectant was already becoming nauseating and the fluorescent lights were manifesting a massive headache. The same gloomy white and gray decor was sickening to his eyes; the somber air was tremendously uncomfortable.
Price tapped his foot anxiously, changing his sitting position every few minutes. Each time he checked the clock, time felt slower. So slow he felt as if he were going insane and the clock was jeering at him. Even when Price tried to get a bit of rest, he’d jolt awake thinking hours had gone by only to realize he had slept for 10 minutes, at most.
It was a torturous cycle—falling into slumber for a little while, jerking awake, realizing no time had gone by, staring at the ceiling, checking for any texts, looking at the clock, staring at the wall, trying to rest again, and repeating.
Within the cycle, Price did receive a few texts from Ghost and Soap asking for an update. He replied that Gaz was still in the operating room but other than that, there wasn't much to update. They eventually texted Price asking if they should stop by to bring him anything—to which he declined. Ghost and Soap surely were busy managing the base and Price could make do.
Price stared out the small hospital windows, the sun was rising already. He had been waiting for hours on end, only getting up once or twice to use the restroom. Price was also convinced the nurses that passed every now and then, were starting to pity him, giving him a sympathetic stare each time. He would pity himself too in their position—he felt god awful and surely he looked that way too.
The sun had fully risen when a doctor finally approached him. Price held his breath, hoping this was not going to be a ‘I regret to inform you.’
The doctor looked at the clipboard in her hands then looked back at Price. “John Price?” She asked.
Price stood up from his seat and nodded curtly. “How is he?”
“Kyle lost a lot of blood but he is stable,” the doctor reported.
Immediately, relief enveloped Price like a breath of fresh air. Thank God, Gaz was alright; Gaz was stable. Price finally felt able to breathe clearly again.
“The bullet missed his spine by half an inch, he got lucky,” she continued. “Recovery will take a while but no permanent damage from what we can see.”
“That’s,” Price started, still processing the news. “Fantastic. Has he woken up yet?”
“He’s in and out of consciousness but you are free to visit. He’s in room 3B, right around that corner.”
“Thank you, doctor,” Price said, already rushing to the mentioned room.
When Price entered the room, he instantly spotted Garrick resting in the bed that was stationed in the middle of the room. Wires and machines hovered all around the bed, connecting in some way to the sergeant. Price wasn’t sure if it was comforting or worrying. Gaz was conscious but looked understandably tired.
Gaz immediately seemed to perk up at the sight of a visitor. “Cap’,” he slurred, still readjusting.
“Welcome back, Garrick,” Price said. He grinned, elated to see Gaz safe and awake again.
Gaz winced as he attempted to sit upright.
“Ay, take it easy, Gaz,” Price ushered as he stepped closer. He dragged a chair that was against the wall up to the bed and got comfortable. “Lay down.”
“Sorry, sir,” Gaz rasped out.
Price looked at him with a consoling stare. “For what?”
“The closet-” Garrick muttered, pausing to take another breath. “‘Didn’t clear it.”
Price could honestly not care less about the mission. It’s never one person’s fault as they were a team and the captain was responsible for all of them. It didn’t matter right now though, all he cared about was Gaz’ wellbeing.
“Hell, Gaz, I don’t care,” Price said. “As long as you’re alive.”
“And the target?”
“Killed in action.”
“Mission successful then?”
“Very.” Outside of Gaz’ injury of course. “Lots of lives saved.”
After a few beats of silence, Gaz chuckled softly. “All that talk about the beach, you owe me leave, Captain.”
“I do, indeed,” Price agreed, chuckling along. “The Doc said you shouldn’t be on field for a little while anyways.” He didn’t want to mention the long recovery but he was sure Gaz could already assume.
“I heard.” The sergeant’s lips half-way curled into a soft grin. “Makes for plenty of beach time.”
“Excited for a desk job too then?” Price teased.
“Thrilled, sir,” Gaz replied, sarcastically.
Gaz’ joking aura left as he pressed his lips together and gazed down as if his hands suddenly became interesting. Price could sense something was wrong but he didn’t want to pressure Gaz to share in his current state. So Price waited, trying to comfort Gaz with just his presence.
“I was scared,” Gaz finally spoke. His voice cracked at the end of his sentence. “That it would be my last mission.”
Price delicately placed his hand over Gaz’; he too had been scared. “Me too.”
“The captain?” Gaz let out a wet chuckle, teasing at Price. “Scared?” His tone lightened the mood a bit but his eyes still conveyed unease.
“Always, Gaz,” Price replied with a genuine tone; he always feared for his team, every mission. “It's part of the job I suppose.”
Gaz’ gaze lowered, seemingly in thought. “Have you ever wished you had a different job then?” He asked hesitantly.
Price knew the answer instantly. He wouldn’t know where he’d be without his team or his job. It was one of a kind, to be in the position he was. While it came with dangers—and grief at times—the work they did was like no other job.
“Never.” Price studied Gaz’ face and smiled. “‘Wouldn’t trade it for the world.”
They talked for a while about the job, about the beach, about miscellaneous things; they had some good laughs. Eventually, Price ordered Gaz to try to get back to sleep since it was clear Gaz’ lids began to close despite his efforts to talk on. As Gaz slept, Price found himself getting a good nap in as well.
When Price awoke, he felt a hankering for anything to fill his appetite. He hadn’t eaten since prior to the mission as he’d been too worried about more important affairs. Seeing as he had a few bucks shoved in his hat, he settled on going to the slot machines out in the waiting room. Price stood up and walked towards the exit, careful to not make any loud noises.
“Headed back, sir?” Gaz asked suddenly. His voice sounded dry and groggy from just waking up.
Price turned around, a tad surprised to see Gaz so receptive to his presence. He stepped back to the side of the bed and placed his hand fondly on Gaz’ shoulder.
“Not quite yet,” Price replied. “Was just feeling a bit peckish. Heading to the slot machine if you want something.” He motioned to the direction of the door.
Garrick blinked a few times, still seeming half-asleep. “Oh, I’m alright. Thank you, Captain.”
“I’ll be right back then,” Price said, patting Gaz’ shoulder lightly before removing his hand.
“You don’t have to stay all day-” Gaz said abruptly; a little flush speckled his cheeks. “Sir.”
“You’re my sergeant and I insist.” Price chuckled warmly. “Son.”