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Christmas loomed over the base that stationed Task Force 141. It wasn't an awful time per se, just a somewhat lonely one. All the privates scuttled back to their mothers, cosied up in their Christmas sweaters, eating the roasts that had been made with nine different side dishes. But the Task Force were not those people.
Sometimes they appreciated the quiet on base. Going to sleep was a little easier, cooking was less stressful knowing you didn't have to guard your leftovers like a lioness with cubs. But sometimes it was just a quiet reminder that going home just wasn't an option and being done with work had no point.
It was slightly different for Captain John Price. His isolation from home was a bit more voluntary. Until this year.
This year, around early to mid December, John Price received an email, one he hadn't looked at yet, despite it being in his inbox for roughly 72 hours. That wasn't wholly uncommon, if you wanted John Price to know something, you walked straight into his office and said it to his face, or your problem is put right at the bottom of his priorities. Kate Laswell often had gripes about this policy as she commonly wasn't even in the same continent as the Captain, but she circumvented this by contacting the Lieutenant, Simon 'Ghost' Riley, and getting him to barge in to Price's office on her behalf.
However today was rather quiet, the privates had gone home, their next scheduled mission wasn't till after the new year, and even Laswell had buggered off to spend the holidays with her missus. So Captain John Price, checked his inbox. And there, hidden almost teasingly, was the email.
Addressed to not his title, but a simple, 'Jonathan,'.
He clicked on it, deciding it was the lesser of two evils compared to the various paperwork related emails from random people associated with random governments. He was wrong.
Jonathan,
I am fully aware of your plans to stay hidden in your little office for the holidays, and I must protest. Every year you have blown off me and your father, and I won't stand for it any longer...
Horror dawned on John Price incredibly quickly. He quickly scanned paragraph after paragraph, he could practically hear his mother's sneer in the words. The clack of her acrylic nails against her teacup as she recited exactly what she wanted written. Hamish, her butler would've written it, he was the technically advanced one.
We will be holding the Christmas party on the 27th, and expect you in the building by the 26th. I understand you may wish to spend the day with your comrades, seeing as you spend more time with them than your own family. But your brothers will be arriving on the 23rd, and should you wish to spend more time with them, you may.
Well that wasn't subtle whatsoever. John doesn't often speak to his brothers, both busy with their own lives. His older brother, Thomas Price Jr, was a lawyer based in London, married with kids, he was his parents golden child. Providing those sweet grandchildren, and pretty wife, the perfect bragging material for the 1pm tea parties his mother attends. His younger brother, Atticus, not so much. Admittedly, John knew less about the wild child of the Price household than Thomas, as Atticus ran off abroad as soon as he turned 18.
And as I know you'll try and worm your way out through your job, I took it upon myself to contact Kate Laswell to inform her that you will be unavailable until January. And should you try and use your comrades as an excuse, as you have before, you may bring them. Lord knows the men you speak of, need some sort of experience around civilised folk.
Price pressed his palms into his eyes, desperately wishing that he was in some sort of overworked fever dream. But nope, he pulled his hands away and it was still there.
I've already told your father that you're coming, and I don't wish to disappoint him, Jonathan.
Well fuck. Price may have a strained and snippy relationship with his mother, but fuck if he didn't respect and love his dad. This was his mother's killing move. He didn't often compare family parties to warfare, but he wasn't blinded by the excruciating similarities between his mum and the people actively fighting him in combat.
He needed a fucking smoke.
John 'Soap' Mactavish, has a family. It wasn't one particularly conventional, and if they asked any normal civilian if they were a family, they'd be laughed at. But it was his nonetheless. His family consisted of one grumpy old man, a twenty something londoner, himself the scotsman, and a silent giant.
For the years that they were a family, they spent Christmas together. Price would let Gaz go wild on decorations, they'd watch old familiar movies, and even Ghost would switch to his festive mask (a balaclava that was simply a lighter shade of grey). Soap believed that this Christmas would be no different, he even had planned to bake cookies now that the privates were off base. But when Price called a meeting with nothing but dread on his features, Soap knew these plans might be in jeopardy.
Now there were many things that could change the Christmas plans, a mission, or a threat. There weren't many things that made Price's face look like that, mission and threats were on that list, but Soap supposed, as he listened to his Captain speak, that one more thing might have to be added to that list.
Price's mother.
Hearing that his captain was going home for the holidays made Soap somewhat sad. He'd still have Gaz and Ghost, but Price was always provided a certain safety, a peace, when Price was around, everything was okay. Soap already adjusted the amount of cookies he'd have to make.
Until...
"My mother, has also extended this invitation to you, should you wish to attend."
Well it was decided as soon as Gaz jumped on the opportunity, because Gaz went wherever Price goes, and Soap goes wherever Gaz goes, and of course, where ever Soap is, you'll find Ghost not fair behind.
And that's how the Task Force 141, feared soldiers, skilled marksmen, trained killers, found themselves sitting in the back of a van that was parked in a gas station, down the road from the Prices' vast estate.
The back of the van was open, and Price was standing, staring into the van and at his men, with all the seriousness of a father sending his children to war.
"Rule number one: Only speak when spoken too. Rule number two: My mother won't be nice and you can treat her as she treats you, but say anything about my dad and I'll throw you down myself. Rule three: Thomas will try and psychanalyse you, don't give in. And rule four: don't get shitfaced."
When he received nods from all soldiers, he sighed, "Great."
Price walked around to the driver's seat, and began the journey to his parents home.
Ghost hadn't grown up rich, in fact he'd grown up in squalor. His survival instinct stemmed from long before his stint in the military, fighting meant staying alive, strangers meant danger, food was a luxury, and being clean was well earned reward. He knew that the other members of the task force did not hold the same ingrained beliefs, both Soap and Gaz grew up solidly middle class. But Price, Price was well off.
And staring up at the gate(!) to the driveway of Price's parents' home, he knew he was wrong. Price wasn't well off, Price was rich.
Ghost felt his skin prickle uncomfortably, and he pressed further into his seat and incidentally, into Soap, who glanced over.
"All good, Lt?" Soap murmured, trying not to alert Gaz or Price that anything could be wrong. It was one of the things he liked about Soap, he knew when to be quiet, even if those moments were few and far between. Ghost nodded, trying to adjust his mask without actually moving, something, he discovered was remarkably difficult. He had elected to wear a simple black surgical mask instead of his balaclava, Price had warned him that his mother could be judgemental and Ghost didn't want to cause trouble day one of a 5 day trip.
The van road up towards the entrance of the house, and Ghost could easily spot the tightness in Price's grip on the steering wheel.
They parked, and all exited to stand outside the door. Ghost saw Soap shift from foot to foot, biting his lip in an obvious attempt to keep silent about the entire situation.
Then the door opened, and the world promptly ended.
Of course it didn't, but Ghost would of suppose he'd prefer the end of the world. Mrs Philippa Price stood in a pretty yellow dress, her dark brown hair tied in a loose bun at the nape of her neck, light blue nails, and a hard look in her eyes. Next to her was a tall man, his hair was spattered with grey, in fact it was more grey with stripes of brown. This was Thomas Price Snr, and the second he saw his middle son, a warm, joyful grin crossed his features.
"Jonathan, hello." Philippa let go of her husband's elbow and stepped forward to Price. She was small, barely reaching Ghost's sternum, but she stared up at her child with such strength and ruthlessness it was almost as if she was looming down on him. Ghost saw Price swallow,
"Hello mother." Her eyes glanced over him, searching for something, Ghost didn't know. What he did know is that she didn't find it, and nodded approvingly. She drew Price into a short hug, which he hesitantly reciprocated. Philippa pulled away, and turned to the men behind Price.
"I see you brought your co-workers."
Price stepped to the side and gestured towards them, "Yes, this is Kyle, John and Simon."
No one missed the use of their real name, and Ghost noticed both Gaz and Soap straighten instantly. He even noticed himself standing more like he was in an official setting. Philippa glanced over them, scrutinizing them. Before she could speak, however, Thomas stepped forward.
He held his hand out towards Gaz, "Pleasure to meet you, son."
Thomas went around shaking the hands of the Task Force, before he got to his son. Pulling Price into his arms, he murmured something only the captain could hear, but Price's arms did tighten around his father.
Later, they met the brothers of the captain. They had been warned about Thomas Jr, who was simply called Junior in the household. He stared at them like his mother did. His wife, Anne, was much more polite, asking them questions about their work, where they lived etc. His two children, Madison and Timothy were quiet, preferring the sanctity of their rooms rather than playing grown up in the living room.
But it was Atticus that caused the most ruckus. The man was slender, looking nothing like his two fair more bulky brothers. He wore heels with his suit, and was sipping on a glass of red as the task force entered the living room. Sat on one of the couch, he watched them all shuffle around, unsure of where to sit.
"Hello big brother." Junior might of stared at them like his mother, but Atticus was her twin. His dark pointed nails tapped against his wine glass, and his lips were stained red.
"Atticus, haven't seen you in awhile."
"Well I suppose we've all been busy, Captain."
Price narrowed his eyes, "What are you playing at?"
Now usually, Price would entertain his family's games until at least day 3, but there was a way Atticus grinned at them. Atticus put his glass down, pulling a coaster from across the coffee table to put under it. And then he stood, despite being skinny, he towered over Price. Easily the tallest of the Price family, probably even taller than Ghost, albeit not by much.
"Oh I was just wondering about your fulfilling career in the special forces, big brother." And he glanced around at the men, and if possibly his grin widened, "And why you brought the illustrious task force with you. If I had known, I would've brought better wine."