Work Text:
The military is an easy place to forget that your squadmates are real actual people with families and backgrounds, on account of the inherent assimilation. Not that it wasn’t needed, but you get so busy creating your own language and communication styles that I think being able to express cultural habits and likes get a little seldom.
All that to say, you and Gaz LOVE to cook together, as it makes you nostalgic for your respective families. And you’ll be damned if these Brits make you skip Thanksgiving. The rest met your enthusiasm with “fucking Americans” but Gaz thankfully was more than happy to join you in the prep, you both bonding in hatred for the same old shit from the base kitchen. But most of the base is gone so you lot have the kitchen and common room to yourself, and that means you and Gaz are making a FEAST.
Pulling greens, the dishes that take 6-8 hours to make, the shit talking, the hyper specific recipes that you bicker about, the music played. You both are IN IT, and Johnny, Simon and Price didn’t have anywhere else to be, and are more than happy to eat what you make. (As they aren’t the most talented cooks of the bunch) Sausage rolls and chip buttys a Thanksgiving does not make.
It tickles the other three to walk by occasionally, listening to you to just… talk. And vibe. About old experiences, moving in tandem, bitching occcasionally. It had a spooky parallel to how you all worked in the field, seamlessly in sync, but the juxtaposition of it being wholesome. You all got to live in a temporary bubble of normalcy and domesticism. Like a big weird family, you could forget you all killed people for a living.
Price had shit to do, so he did flybys through the day, but they increased in frequency as it went on, his smile growing each time. His little grinch heart growing, seeing his team get along. You tossed cookies at him, hoping to get a rise out of him, but all you were met with was a “thanks, love” and a wink. You made a mental note to do that at a frequency of everyday forever.
Soap didn’t want to miss anything (or feel left out) so he kept to his favorite things: “watching TV” aka TikToks and passively watching a show, interjecting in conversations and stealing food when no one was looking. (Everyone was looking and he was slapped and yelled at A LOT)
Ghost was just unfamiliar with this intimate of camaraderie. He stopped in occasionally for tea, which Gaz and you started making for him. You could see his little eye crinkles as you prepared his tea just like he liked it.
Gaz and you started singing together as you plated the meal on the kitchen island. The rest of the team was holding a flight pattern in the common area, pulled in like the smell lines in an old timey cartoon, scotch already prepped and poured. But there was a moment where you two got swept up in your comfortability, and started singing in earnest. (This song in particular) You two didn’t make it a habit of getting too relaxed in front of the others, big tough soldiers and all, so this was a rare, near nonexistent sight.
Better days comin' for sure
If this world were—
If it was up to me
I wouldn't give these nobodies no sympathy
I'd take away the pain, I'd give you everything
I just wanna see you win, wanna see
If this world were mine
The three on the couch looked back with open mouths and smiles as you carried on. Literal years you all have worked together, how did they not know you two sang, and HARMONIZED? Did you practice?
You noticed first, brought back to reality and almost dropping a dish. Scandalized! Embarassed! Blushing furiously! Gaz thankfully was impervious to their bullshit, and told them to fuck off and come eat. Typical soldiers, couldn’t sit down proper for anything, food included, so you all settled into conversation and a full meal standing around the island. Enjoying the bubble, enjoying the peace, enjoying the moment.
Johnny, Price and Simon graciously offered to do dishes and clean. (Leftovers for days!) And after a while, you all dispersed. Soap stole a half of a pie and was inbound on falling asleep with his pants unbuttoned on the couch. Ghost was tactically figuring out how to look aloof and fall asleep on Soaps shoulder. Gaz had family (and a lady, you suspected) to FaceTime and Price hung behind you on the way to the barracks. Before you made your good nights, he offered to share a new bottle of bourbon his Nan sent in his room. Super casual. No pressure. Maybe he could hear your pretty voice sing just for him this time.