Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Couldn't be a more well deserved night out. The mission was done, he had a few days to unwind for the first time in months. A slight reprieve from the constant 'at war' state of mind he was beginning to feel prisoner to. No superiors to shout at him or remind him of his place - 'that's why I'm the captain and you're the sergeant'. Made him roll his eyes if he was being honest, he worked just as hard as anyone else.

That's why he was sat there, at the quiet bar. Beer in one hand, cigarette in the other as he looked around for the guys who had all but abandoned him where he sat. Ghost seemed to have left. Par for the course for Ghost. And Soap was off trying out a few pick-up lines on some sorry girl too drunk to realize the level of cheese being thrown her way. Made Gaz laugh to himself as he watched the just as drunk Scotsman try and fail, and try again.

His amusement was cut short however, when a small commotion broke out behind him, and he turned just in time to see a young woman fumble her drink as a drunk guy stumbled into her. The ice cold feeling of her drink against his chest was shocking, a single ice cube finding the gap in his shirt between two buttons. As the girl apologized profusely, he laughed.

"No worries, love," he said, waving it off. His shirt was soaked, tinted pink from the grenadine syrup in her drink, and he grabbed a few napkins from the bar, dabbing at the wet spot. "Trust me, I've been through worse. You alright?"