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The box of holiday lights sits in the middle of the rec room table like a particularly festive IED.
“Right-” Price says, hands on his hips, moustache twitching slightly. “How hard can this be?”
On cue, the box makes a worrying buzzing noise.
Gaz peers in, arm hooked into Price's. “Why is it humming?”
Nikolai leans over his shoulder, delighted. “Is good sound. Means they work.”
“That’s not what that means." Soap mutters.
Ghost just folds his arms, looming in the corner, mask deadpan, as he inspects what's going on.
Roach is already halfway up on the table, kneeling at the edge with his elbows dug into the cardboard, digging through the tangled mess like it’s treasure. He pulls out one long strand and holds it up. Half the bulbs are blue, half warm white, and there are at least three mystery plugs attached. He turns, eyes bright, and signs at the room with quick, sharp motions: We can make it work.
Soap watches his hands and grins. “That’s the spirit, lovebug.”
Roach sticks his tongue out at him, then points at Ghost, signs something else.
“What’s he sayin’?” Gaz asks.
Soap smirks. “He says if it blows a fuse, it’s Ghost’s fault.”
Ghost tilts his head. “Hm? How would that be my fault?"
But no answer was given.
Price claps his hands once. “Focus, lads. We’re not savages. We can manage a few strings of lights.”
Nikolai cheerfully opens another box. A cascade of more lights spills out, along with tinsel and something that might be a Santa hat. “We do whole corridor. Maybe hang some from ceiling. Romantic, da?”
Gaz nudges him with an elbow, wrapping his arms around Nikolai. “What, planning to pull me under the mistletoe?"
“Is secret.." Nikolai says solemnly. “Do not tell.”
Price pretends to groan, but his eyes are fond. “You lot can flirt AFTER we're done here. Pair up. Keep it simple. Soap, Ghost, Roach, you take the main corridor. Me, Gaz, Nikolai, we’ll do the lounge.”
Roach gives a thumbs up, already wrapping a strand of lights around his shoulders like a glowing scarf. Soap grabs the nearest ladder. Ghost grabs the plug.
The main corridor ceiling is high enough that Ghost eyes it like it personally offended him.
“Welp-" Soap says, setting the ladder in place. “Plan. We hook the first strand along the ceiling tiles... make it zigzag...a festive zigzag.”
Ghost lifts the plug. “And what’s the plan when this thing explodes and takes out the grid?"
Roach taps his shoulder to get his attention, then signs, If power goes out, more romantic. Candles.
Soap snorts. “He’s got a point.”
“You two are a hazard." Ghost says, but there’s warmth in it. He flicks the mask up just enough to reveal his eyes rolling.
Roach points at the ladder, then at himself. My turn.
“Ye sure, bug?” Soap asks, but Roach is already hopping in place, jittery with excitement. He’s vibrating like he’s wired into the mains himself.
Ghost plants the ladder firmly, boot against the base. “You get three rungs above my head and I’m draggin’ you back down.”
Roach salutes dramatically, then starts up, the lights trailing behind him like a comet tail. The bulbs clink softly against the metal as he climbs.
Soap stands by with a handful of clear hooks and adhesive strips.
“Ye put it through the hooks there, aye?” he calls up.
Roach nods, focused, tongue between his teeth. He stretches up, hooks the first bit of the strand into place, then snakes it along the ceiling. His movements are sharp, precise, and sort of full of pent up excited energy. Like clearing a room, but coiled around joy instead of tension.
Ghost keeps a hand on the ladder, watching every shift of Roach’s weight.
“You’re hovering." Soap mutters under his breath, nudging Ghost’s side lightly with a warm little smile on his face.
“Course I am." Ghost replies. “He’s up there with a death wish and six meters of electrified garland.”
Roach glances down, eyes crinkling. He signs one handed down at Ghost. Drama queen.
“Watch your footing, Gary.." Ghost warns, but his tone is fond.
Roach rolls his eyes and reaches further to get a better angle on the next hook. The lights tangle around his wrist. He shakes his hand to free them, shifts his weight to the other foot...the ladder wobbles.
All three of them freeze.
“Don’t move.” Ghost says, voice deep, eyes focused on Roach and the ladder.
Roach immediately moves.
The rubber foot of the ladder slips on the smooth floor with a horrible screech. Ghost lunges, grabbing the side rail. For one heart stopping second it looks like he’s caught it but then it tilts again, too far, momentum gone.
Roach’s eyes go wide. He hugs the bundle of lights to his chest on pure instinct.
“Roach!” Soap yells.
The ladder goes sideways.
Roach rides it down, because of course he does, boots braced on the rungs, hands fisted in the lights like a demented holiday surfer. The ladder hits the ground with a crash. Roach’s momentum carries him off it, tumbling forward. The lights snap tight and the entire strand rips free from the ceiling with a series of rapid pop pop pop as the adhesive hooks surrender to the chaos.
Ghost dives, catching Roach mid scramble as he skids across the floor, wrapped in lights like a very confused cat. They spin, Ghost taking the brunt of the impact against the wall with a grunt.
The hallway goes silent.
Then half the lights blink on. The strand Roach is wrapped in glows cheerfully, blinking.
Soap stares, laughing. “…Well. That’s one way to test ‘em.”
Roach blinks up at Ghost from where he’s sprawled across the lieutenant’s chest, lights blinking around his head, static making his hair stand up in wild spikes. He signs, Ta-da.
Ghost lets out a breath that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. “You absolute menace.”
Soap jogs over. “Everyone in one piece?”
Ghost wiggles his shoulders against the wall, then pats Roach down in a brisk, careful sweep. “Nothin’ broken.” He taps Roach’s knee, then signs back, stiff but improving, You okay?
Roach gives a double thumbs up and then points both thumbs at himself, signing in exaggerated big motions, Nailed it.
Soap presses a hand over his face, chuckling a bit. “Ye fell off a ladder and took out the entire line.”
Roach nods, utterly pleased with himself. Then he scrunches up his nose and signs, Looked cool, though.
Ghost huffs. “Looked like I’m investing in bubble wrap.”
Soap grins. “Could tie him to the banister. Less vertical risk.”
Roach squints at them, then starts rapidly signing, words tumbling out of his fingers: If you immobilize me, no more cookies. I know where Price keeps them.
Ghost’s eyes narrow. “Blackmail now?”
Roach just taps his nose like I know things and starts untangling himself from the glowing strand, which is more wrapping tighter around him than coming loose. He ends up with his arms crossed over his chest, trapped, lights blinking smugly.
Soap looks at Ghost. “We’re gonna have to cut him out, aren’t we?”
Ghost steps forward, tugging gently here and there, his fingers surprisingly gentle around Roach’s wrists. “Hold still, bug.”
Roach leans into him, perfectly happy to let himself be fussed over.
Down the hall, in the lounge, things are not going better.
“That goes over there." Price insists, pointing to the far wall.
Gaz, halfway up another ladder, stares down at him. “You said the window, John-”
“I changed my mind.”
“You can’t change your mind once I’m already up here." Gaz protests. “That’s ladder law.”
Nikolai is on the sofa, untangling what has become the world’s tightest knot of colored lights. He’s humming something that might be a Christmas carol, or might be a Russian drinking song. Hard to tell.
“You two argue, I will finish." he says. “Gaz, toss me end.”
Gaz complies. The end of the strand whips down and smacks Nikolai in the shoulder. “Ow. Is good. Is quality throw.”
Price pinches the bridge of his nose. “All I bloody asked for was a nice, simple bit of cheer.”
“We’re soldiers, not decorators,” Gaz says, snorting lowly.
Price opens his mouth to retort and is cut off by a distant CRASH and Soap’s unmistakable shout of “ROACH!”
All three of them freeze.
Price sighs deeply. “That’ll be our other problem.”
Nikolai brightens. “See? Is teamwork. They make noise, we feel better about ours.”
Gaz laughs despite himself. “He’s not wrong, Cap.”
“Right.” Price says. “Finish this wall, then we go check no one’s concussed.”
Back in the corridor, Ghost has just about freed Roach’s arms when Price, Gaz, and Nikolai appear.
“What in God’s name happened out here?” Price demands.
Soap gestures at the mess. The ladder on its side, the scattered hooks, the long line of slightly drooping lights. “Roach executed a controlled descent test, Cap'n."
Roach, still decorated head to toe in blinking lights, raises a hand. It was science, he signs.
Gaz bites his lip, trying not to laugh. “You look like a cyberpunk reindeer, mate.”
Nikolai beams. “He is perfect. Leave him like this. Is mascot.”
Ghost shifts slightly closer to Roach, one hand hovering near his back like he’s ready to steady him again. “He’s fine.” he tells Price, tone brooking no argument. “Ladder just went sideways.”
Price eyes the situation, then Roach, whose hair is still standing up like he stuck his finger in a socket. “You lot are supposed to be elite. You realize that, yeah?”
Roach thinks about that, then shrugs adorably, the motion sending little ripples of light blinking down his chest.
Gaz cracks. “Okay, but look how festive he is.”
Soap slings an arm around Roach’s shoulders, careful of the wires. “We can just stand him in the corner. Boom. Christmas tree.”
Roach gasps silently, scandalized, and slaps Soap’s chest with the back of his hand.
Nikolai claps his hands together. “We can put star on his head.”
Roach immediately brightens, nodding vigorously. He signs at lightning speed: Yes. Crown me. I demand it.
Ghost deadpans, “We’re not making him king of Christmas.”
Roach squints up at him, fishes in his pocket with some difficulty, and produces a bent paperclip and a tiny foam star he’d pilfered from who knows where. He holds them up, eyes pleading.
Soap snorts. “Aye, alright, big man. Don’t deny him his destiny.”
Ghost looks skyward for patience he does not possess. Price just leans against the wall and watches, amused.
With exaggerated reluctance, Ghost takes the star and paperclip. “C’mere, then.”
Roach steps in close, tilting his head down. Ghost carefully hooks the makeshift crown into Roach’s hair, fingers brushing his scalp. Roach shivers, leaning just a bit more into the touch. The star settles against his messy hair, slightly crooked, utterly perfect.
Soap whistles. “There. Our bug, the Patron Saint of Bad Decisions.”
Gaz raises a hand. “Seconded.”
Nikolai nods solemnly. “Is official. I approve.”
Roach stands a little straighter, lights glowing around him, star perched on his head. He signs, small and a little shy, You like it?
Ghost’s gaze softens behind the mask. “Yeah, bug. Suits you.”
They regroup in the lounge later, the corridor half completed but functional. The lounge is an explosion of color, Gaz got his ladder law enforced, Nikolai somehow made the tangled knot into a glowing bundle over the sofa, and Price managed to string up a strand over the window that actually looks respectable.
“Not bad.” Soap says, hands on his hips.
Roach wanders into the room still partially wrapped in lights. They’ve managed to disconnect him from the main line, but Soap insisted on leaving a shorter strand woven around his shoulders. It’s plugged into a battery pack now, gently pulsing like he’s got his own orbit.
Gaz pats the seat beside him. “C’mere, mate. You’re the centerpiece.”
Roach flops down between Gaz and Soap, knees drawn up, feet on the edge of the sofa. Soap’s arm goes around him automatically. On his other side, Gaz nudges his shoulder companionably. Nikolai settles on the arm of the sofa next to Price’s chair, one hand resting casually on Price’s shoulder. “We should do dinner like this, da? Lights, music. No ladders.”
“That last bit’s non negotiable." Price says, but he reaches up to cover Nikolai’s hand with his own. “Next year we make a plan. This was… improv.”
“Improv is fun." Gaz says.
“Especially when Roach nearly takes out Ghost with a ladder.”
Roach makes a face and kicks Gaz gently in the shin. Ghost takes the armchair closest to the sofa and hooks one boot around Roach’s ankle, keeping him pinned in what might be labeled as discipline if it didn’t look so much like affection. “Keep kickin’ people and I’m unplugging you.”
Roach gasps silently and clutches his lights, glancing between Ghost and the battery pack with exaggerated horror.
Soap chuckles and leans in, pressing a quick kiss to Roach’s temple, then one to the side of Ghost’s balaclava.
“He’s bluffin’. Mostly.”
Roach’s shoulders relax. He turns and bumps his forehead softly against Soap’s cheek in thanks, then twists to nudge Ghost’s knee with his own. His hands flicker, signing small: Thank you for catching me.
Ghost’s gaze catches his, serious now. He signs back, slower but steady, Always.
Roach’s eyes go bright and wet in the dim light. He ducks his head, then wiggles both hands: Group photo.
“Photo?” Gaz perks up. “Yeah, alright. Everyone squeeze in.”
They cram onto and around the sofa, the six of them pressed into a tangle of limbs and wool and stray wires. Price ends up half perched on the coffee table, one arm hooked around Gaz’s shoulders. Nikolai leans in from behind, chin on Price’s other shoulder. Soap and Ghost bracket Roach on either side, all three of them wedged into the middle cushion.
Roach lifts his phone, the front camera reflecting six faces and a ridiculous amount of lights. He taps the timer, holds it out at arm’s length, and then signs, Three… two…
On one, Gaz plants a loud kiss on Price’s cheek. Price splutters, moustache twitching, but he doesn’t move away. Nikolai laughs into the side of his neck.
Soap turns his head and kisses Roach right at the corner of his mouth. Ghost leans in on the other side, pressing his forehead lightly against Roach’s temple.
The camera clicks.
The photo comes out a little blurry, a little crooked. Price’s hat is askew, Gaz is mid laugh, Nikolai’s grin is too wide for the frame. Ghost’s eyes are soft, Soap’s smile is crooked and fond, Roach in the center glowing like a star, lights haloing all of them. Roach stares at the screen for a long moment, then tucks the phone to his chest like it’s something fragile. He doesn’t have the words for it..not out loud, not right now, but his hands know. He reaches up and signs in the space between them, small, shy, but sure: his is good. I like this. I like us.
Soap watches his fingers and nods, eyes warm. “Aye, bug. Me too.”
Ghost’s hand finds Roach’s ankle again, thumb rubbing a slow circle through the fabric. “Even with the impending electrical fire.”
Gaz snorts. “Oi, don’t jinx it.”
Nikolai lifts his mug of tea in a mock toast. “To us!" he says.
Price lifts his own. “To us surviving shite together.”
Roach lifts his hands, fingers splayed, lights catching between them like tiny stars, and signs, To us.
The room smells like dust and old coffee and faint pine from the cheap plastic garland someone found in storage. The lights hum softly. Outside, the base is still the same cold, harsh world it always is. Inside, for a little while, it’s warm. Bright. Messy. The six of them, tangled up in each other and in lights that flicker but don’t go out.