Chapter Text
Task Force 141 was getting a new member.
At least, that’s what Price had told them. Any other details (name, gender, rank, etc etc) were hidden behind a big red CLASSIFIED. Of course it was.
They had a balance going on, Ghost thought. It was the four of them. It would always be the four of them. Until now, apparently. Price hadn’t discussed this with any of them. Sure, Laswell probably knew, hell, the madwoman was most likely the one to suggest it. She was always going on about needing more personnel, more manpower, though the captain had argued for ages about the topic.
Which brought them to this. Ghost sat in their meeting room, watching the Sergeants bicker about who the newcomer could possibly be. Gaz insisted they’d finally get a pretty woman on the team, but Soap, the menace, just laughed at the idea.
Soap. Johnny. The cocky and utterly maniacal Scottish man of Ghost- no, Simon’s dreams. That stupid mohawk and bright blue eyes could distract even the best of soldiers with a single glance. Speaking of those eyes, they turned to lock onto Ghost, eyeing him with that cheeky look they always did.
“Wha’ ‘bout you, Lt? Think we’ll get some wee bonnie lass?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Ghost couldn’t help but scoff. “Hardly. Price knows better,” he said in return.
As if summoned by his name, Captain John Price walked into the room carrying a file. He tossed it onto the table, but his sharp gaze deterred any wandering hands. “Alright, boys,” his rough voice announced, “we’ve got fresh meat joining our crew. Soap, I’m lookin’ at you.”
The Scot tilted his head, not unlike a dog, Ghost noted, obvious confusion painting his expression. He shared a look with Gaz that even Ghost couldn’t read.
“Sir?” Johnny said curiously.
As soon as the older man made a motion towards the file, both Sergeants were jumping at it like it was a live bomb needing to be diffused. Soap got his hands on it first, snickering at Gaz and sticking out his tongue like a child. His eyes roved over the paperwork, visible cogs turning in his head.
There was silence.
Then Soap shot up from his seat, muttering profanities in what was most likely gaelic and taking his phone out as he left the room.
The others sat in silence, the only noise being Price’s rough chuckle.