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Gaz felt it creeping up on him, the subtle signs he’d been ignoring for days. His vision blurred slightly at the edges, and there was a pressure building at the back of his skull, making it harder to concentrate. He blinked rapidly, trying to shake it off, focusing on the recruits scattered across the training field.
This wasn’t the time. Not now.
They’d been pushing hard for days—long hours under the punishing sun, barely enough food or rest. But that wasn’t new. Task Force 141 had endured far worse conditions, and he’d always powered through it. Gaz had thought he could do it again. He had to. These recruits were new, green as the grass beneath their boots. They were counting on him to show them how it was done. He was supposed to be the rock, the one who never wavered.
He inhaled deeply, the heat oppressive, sinking into his bones. His skin felt like it was on fire, and sweat dripped into his eyes, stinging. But still, he kept his voice steady, issuing instructions to the recruits as they lined up for their next drill.
"Remember your formations, keep your sightlines clear. If you lose track of your team, you’ll be dead before you know it."
His voice was sharp, but there was a tremor underneath that he hoped no one noticed. Soap had glanced his way once or twice, but Gaz had waved him off with a small nod, forcing a tight smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Soap, always intuitive, had narrowed his gaze in suspicion but hadn’t said anything. Thank God.
Gaz clenched his fists, trying to will the dizziness away, but the world swayed dangerously. The sun above felt like a weight pressing down on him, and the edges of his vision began to darken. His heart pounded harder in his chest, and he could feel the pulse in his temples like a drumbeat, each thud echoing louder than the last. He swallowed hard, trying to push through it.
Not now. Not here.
He blinked again, fighting to stay upright, but his legs felt like lead. His thoughts scrambled as he realised what was about to happen. He was going down, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Get through the drill. Just get through it, mate, he urged himself, gritting his teeth.
But his body had other plans.
The last thing he heard was the muffled sound of Soap’s voice, sharp with alarm, before his knees buckled and the world went black.
“Gaz!”
Soap’s shout pierced through the chatter of the recruits, and within seconds, he was at Gaz’s side. He wasn’t moving, his body crumpled on the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.
“Medic! Get a bloody medic over here!” Soap’s voice cracked, his usual composure evaporating in the face of seeing his friend like this.
Price was next to him in an instant, his face grim as he barked orders, scattering the recruits who had frozen in place. “Back off! Give him space!”
Ghost hovered nearby, his posture tense. His hands moved with practised efficiency, checking Gaz’s vitals, but even behind his mask, the worry was palpable. Gaz wasn’t waking up, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. His skin was pale, clammy to the touch.
“He’s out cold,” Ghost muttered, his voice low but urgent. “Heart rate’s all over the place. Could be heat stroke.”
Price swore under his breath. “We’re getting him to medical now.”
Without wasting another second, they carefully lifted Gaz, rushing him towards the base’s medical wing. Soap followed closely, his heart in his throat. He couldn’t believe it—Gaz had seemed off, but nothing like this. Gaz didn’t just go down. Ever. It was like seeing a tree uprooted in a storm, something so steady brought low by forces they couldn’t see coming.
Once they reached the med bay, the staff were ready. They immediately began administering fluids and checking his vitals as the team stood helplessly at the door.
“They need time to stabilise him,” one of the nurses said firmly. “We’ll let you know when you can see him.”
Ghost, standing slightly apart from the rest, folded his arms across his chest. His gaze followed the stretcher as it disappeared through the doors. Beneath the mask, his eyes were unreadable, but his knuckles were white where they gripped his biceps.
Price exhaled sharply. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “He should’ve said something.”
Soap kicked a loose rock, his frustration boiling over. “He always does this. Thinks he can handle everything on his own.”
Ghost remained silent, though a muscle in his jaw twitched.
They waited. Time dragged on, every minute feeling like an eternity. The air in the hallway was thick with unspoken emotions—frustration, guilt, fear. Each man dealt with it in his own way. Soap paced, unable to keep still. Price leaned against the wall, his head lowered, arms crossed. Ghost stood perfectly still, staring at the door that kept them from Gaz.
Hours later, the nurse finally reappeared. “You can see him now. He’s awake.”
They didn’t need to be told twice. Soap was the first through the door, followed by Price and Ghost. Relief washed over all of them as they saw Gaz sitting up in bed, looking worse for wear but conscious, an IV in his arm. He glanced up at them, offering a weak smile.
“Hey,” Gaz croaked, his voice dry. “Figured you lot were busy.”
“Busy? Busy doing what?” Soap demanded, throwing his hands up. “Worrying about your stubborn arse?”
Gaz chuckled, though it quickly turned into a cough. “It’s just heat exhaustion. Nothing serious.”
Price crossed his arms, his face unreadable. “You didn’t say anything, Kyle. Not a word.”
Gaz winced, looking down at the thin hospital blanket covering him, tracing the lines of the fabric with his fingers. He’d known this moment was coming the second he’d opened his eyes and seen the look on their faces—angry, worried, and relieved all at once. He had felt the weight of it sitting heavy on his chest ever since. But that didn’t make it any easier to explain.
“Didn’t think it’d get this bad,” he admitted, his voice quiet, like the words were too much to say aloud. “Honestly... I thought I could handle it.”
His hand gripped the edge of the blanket tighter, and he glanced up briefly, seeing the frustration in Soap’s eyes and the quiet intensity of Ghost’s gaze beneath his mask. Price stood close, his arms crossed but not speaking yet, just waiting.
“I mean... look, we’ve all been through it, right?” Gaz continued, his voice gaining a bit of momentum as he tried to explain. “Price, your leg’s still giving you hell from Kabul, and I know Ghost’s been pulling back-to-back missions for weeks, barely had time to breathe. And Soap, mate, you haven’t been sleeping proper, not with everything that went down last time. I didn’t want to... I dunno, pile on.”
Soap’s face softened, but there was a flicker of something like guilt there too.
Gaz rubbed at his eyes, feeling suddenly exhausted. “I figured, compared to all that, what’s a bit of heat stroke or whatever this is? Didn’t think it’d knock me on my arse like this. But it’s been a lot lately, and I just—” He shook his head, frustrated with himself now. “Didn’t want to take anyone’s attention away from more important stuff. Didn’t think my little problem mattered.”
That was the heart of it, really. He hadn’t wanted to seem weak. Not in front of them. Not when they were all holding themselves together through God knows what. He figured he could tough it out, like he always had. But he’d underestimated how much it had been weighing on him.
“I should’ve said something. I know,” Gaz said, looking down again, his fingers picking at a stray thread in the blanket. “But we’ve all been carrying so much. I didn’t want to make it worse.”
Price, silent up until now, finally spoke. His voice was quiet but firm. “Kyle... You think we’d ever think of you as a burden?”
Gaz looked up at him, unsure how to answer.
Price shook his head, stepping closer to the bed. “We’re a team for a reason. You don’t just carry your weight and leave the rest of us in the dark. If you’re struggling, you tell us. Same way we’d tell you.”
Ghost, who had been quietly watching from his chair, leaned in, resting a hand on Gaz’s arm. “You’re not less because you’re going through something. We’re all dealing with our own shit, but that doesn’t mean you get to pull away and pretend you’re fine when you’re not.”
Gaz swallowed, feeling a strange mix of guilt and relief all at once. They were frustrated, but not for the reasons he’d feared. It wasn’t that they saw him as weak or incapable—it was that he hadn’t let them help. He hadn’t trusted them with his own struggles the way they trusted him with theirs.
Soap, still sitting on the edge of the bed, ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “You’re always the one looking out for everyone else, Gaz. Always steady, always the rock. But you’re human, mate. You’re allowed to have limits too.”
“More than allowed,” Price added. “We rely on you, same as you rely on us. It’s not about who’s got more on their plate. We’re all in this together.”
Gaz nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders starting to ease. “Yeah. I get it. I just... didn’t want to let anyone down.”
“You didn’t,” Ghost said simply, his voice quieter now but no less firm. “You never have.”
There was a long pause as Gaz took it all in, letting their words sink in fully. He’d been so focused on what they were going through, he hadn’t realised they felt the same about him—that they relied on him just as much as he did on them. It was an odd feeling, knowing he wasn’t expected to always be the strong one.
“Thanks,” he said finally, his voice rough but sincere. “For sticking around, even when I’m an idiot.”
Price cracked a small smile. “We wouldn’t leave you behind, Kyle. Not for anything.”
Soap grinned, breaking the tension. “You’re stuck with us, mate. Better get used to it.”
Gaz couldn’t help but smile back, despite the lingering exhaustion. They weren’t just his team—they were his family, and they had each other’s backs. Even when he didn’t think he deserved it.
Gaz nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders starting to ease. “Yeah. I get it. I just... didn’t want to let anyone down.”
“You didn’t,” Ghost said simply, his voice quieter now but no less firm. “You never have.”
Gaz looked down, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. The guilt gnawed at him still, heavy in his chest. He had scared them, made them worry about him when they already had enough to deal with. He’d always been the one to stay steady, to keep things grounded for the team. It wasn’t his job to need help.
But the look in their eyes—the anger, the frustration—they weren’t just mad. Beneath it all, Gaz saw something else: fear. Fear that they’d almost lost him, fear that things could have gone much worse. That was what hit him the hardest.
He swallowed thickly, lifting his gaze to meet Soap’s. The guilt made it difficult to speak, but he forced the words out anyway. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice rough, “I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“That’s not how it works, mate,” Soap said, his voice softer now, sitting at the edge of the bed. “We’re a team. You’re not meant to deal with this on your own.”
Gaz glanced at Ghost and Price, both standing at the foot of the bed. They were angry, yes, but there was something deeper there too. Fear, that sharp edge of it still lingering behind their stern expressions. They hadn’t just been worried—he’d scared them.
Price shook his head, his expression softening as he stepped closer, voicing what they've all been afraid to say outright. “You scared the hell out of us.”
“Yeah, please don't make it a habit,” Soap added, leaning in slightly. “It’s not good for my heart, y’know?”
Gaz smiled faintly, appreciating the attempt at humour, but it didn’t completely erase the weight on his chest. He knew they were serious. He had pushed too far, not just physically, but emotionally, by leaving them out of the loop.
Ghost finally moved closer, pulling up a chair next to the bed. His hand reached out, resting gently on Gaz’s pulse point, fingers lightly brushing his wrist. Gaz shot him a questioning look.
“Still checking to make sure I’m alive?” Gaz teased, his voice raspy.
Ghost, his mask concealing most of his face, responded with a slow, almost imperceptible nod. “Just making sure you’re still with us,” he said gruffly, though there was something softer in his tone.
“You’re not the one who’s supposed to need babysitting, mate,” Soap quipped, giving Gaz’s shoulder a gentle shove. “What were you thinking?”
Gaz sighed, feeling the tension return for a moment. “I wasn’t. Not properly. Just didn’t want to bother you all with it.”
Price stepped closer, dragging a chair to the other side of the bed. He sat down heavily and, to Gaz’s surprise, leaned forward, resting his head on Gaz’s chest, his ear pressed against his ribs. Almost as if he’s making sure he can still feel the rise and fall of Gaz’s chest.
A tiny smirk crept across Ghost’s face.
“You’ve got the old man worried.” Ghost said dryly, eyes glinting as he pulled off his mask and set it on the bedside table. His face was shadowed with stubble, his eyes tired but sharp.
Gaz chuckled softly, the heavy mood finally beginning to lift. They were mad, but it wasn’t the kind of anger he’d feared. It wasn’t frustration at his weakness or annoyance that he hadn’t kept it together. It was the kind of anger that only came from people who cared, from people who had been scared out of their minds when they thought something could have happened to him.
Soap, never one to be left out, swung his legs up onto the bed, sliding in next to Gaz. He leaned against him with a satisfied grin. “Well, since you’re fine now, I’m taking advantage of this bed. It’s bloody more comfortable than the cots they’ve got us on.”
Gaz laughed, the sound weak but genuine. “Make yourself at home, then.”
Ghost, now maskless, leaned forward, resting his upper body on Gaz’s legs, still keeping his hand on Gaz’s pulse, almost as if the physical contact reassured him.
Then, in a rare show of affection, Soap reached out and ran his hand through Ghost’s short hair, ruffling it slightly. “Gonna tell the recruits you’re a big softie, Simon.”
Ghost huffed, though there was no real irritation in his voice. “You do that, and I’ll make sure your next loadout’s full of blanks.”
Price finally lifted his head from Gaz’s chest, giving him a tired but affectionate look. “Glad you’re all right.”
Gaz nodded, his heart full. He hadn’t realised how much they’d all needed this—how much he had, too. “Thanks, lads. I’ll be smarter about it next time.”
“We’ll hold you to that,” Price muttered. He glanced at Ghost and Soap, a faint smile playing at the edges of his mouth. Placing his head back on Gaz’s chest, frowning but still fond, “You’ve given us a few grey hairs today, Sergeant.”
Gaz chuckled softly. “Didn’t think that was possible with you lot.”
Ghost, still resting his hand on Gaz’s wrist, huffed, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Keep pulling stunts like that, and we’ll all be looking ancient by the end of the year.”
“Speak for yourself, Simon,” Soap murmured, his voice already heavy with sleep as he curled up next to Gaz. “I’m too pretty for that.”
Price let out a low chuckle, settling back into his chair. “We’ll see about that.”
Ghost gave a soft grunt of agreement. “Get some rest.”
Gaz leaned back into the pillows, the steady rhythm of his team’s breathing around him pulling him into a sense of calm, everything felt... settled.
They were together. They’d all be fine.