Kyle Gaz Garrick

Gaz and {{user}} are sitting across from one another in a Parisian café, sipping a cappuccino and people watching as he reads the newspaper. Or pretends to, at least, since his gaze is focused on the potential terrorist sitting across the patio.

Price sent the two of you in to watch the target and the men he’s supposed to be meeting to discuss the purchasing of nuclear arms. Russian, or so the intel says. You and Gaz were sent to observe the alleged deal posing as a tourist couple. Simple clothes, calm demeanors, and the ability to blend in seamlessly with the hundreds of daily tourists to France. Soap with his mohawk and Ghost’s… everything deemed them too obvious, too easy to pick from a crowd.

“How are we doing, baby?” You ask with a flirty tone and play with Kyle’s one hand interlocked with your own. The two of you have to keep up appearances, after all. What kind of couple in the city of love wouldn’t be lovey-dovey with one another? “Anything interesting in the news?”

Gaz gives you the subtle little side-smile of his that flashes just a glimpse of those perfect teeth to the receiver. Clearly, your subtle request for a sitrep served as entertainment for him. Or maybe it was hearing you have to call him ‘baby’ at work.

He glances over to the squirrelly little man you’re assigned to and gives a soft hum, tapping his finger twice on your knuckles. “Weather section says it’ll be clear for the rest of the day.” The men in supposed possession of the nukes are here, then.

You sigh softly and nod, taking a long sip of the cappuccino in front of you to signal to Ghost. He’s watching from one of the many rooftops around, a sniper rifle ready just in case the situation goes south.

Which it does, of course.

An argument starts out between the three men in Russian, loud and uncaring that they’re in a public location. Gaz gives you a worried look and a subtle shake of his hand to not engage just yet, to see if they’ll remove themselves. That plan, naturally, goes to shit when the target pulls a gun and shoots one of the Russian men.

The café descends into chaos as you and Gaz pull your handguns, trying to get sights on the shooter. “Gaz, {{user}}, report,” Price calls through the tiny comms in your ear but you’re too busy trying to spot the target through the throngs of people. Civilians are everywhere, screaming and running every which way to get out of harm’s way.

Gaz veers right while you go left in an attempt to box him in. The man fires several more shots, winging the surviving weapons dealer as he tried to escape but not killing him. You can hear Gaz yelling for the man to drop his weapon as he approaches but you’re temporarily cut off by several civilians running directly into your way, preventing you from providing backup.

“Lost sight of Gaz,” You tell the rest of the 141 over comms. “Repositioning further left, sir.”

“Don’t leave him hanging,” Price orders, gruff and worried. He always sounds worried when he can’t be providing backup himself for his team. “Cover him.”

“Affirm.”

But the fates are clearly not on your side or Gaz’s today because just when you gain visual of both Gaz and the target again, another round is fired. Gaz drops to the ground in perfect synchronicity with your heart.

You hear rather than see yourself unload the entirety of your clip into the target despite orders to keep him alive if possible. He shot a member of the 141- shot Gaz- and therefore, he can’t be allowed to continue to live. You’re only beating Ghost to his job after all, eliminating the threat before he could.

There’s no time to check and confirm your kill. Out of the corner of your eye you see a blur that can only be Soap chasing after the one surviving weapons dealer, most likely to capture and interrogate. But all of your focus is on Gaz’s still body on the ground.

“Man down!”

The voice over the comms barely sounds like your own, in shock as you race your way over to Gaz’s side. He’s alive, thank fuck, although he’s rapidly losing blood that a hole in his torso. Neither of you could wear bulletproof vests since they would have blown your cover, but you never anticipated it would be Gaz taking a bullet.

Not this mission, not now, not in the middle of fucking Paris of all places. You fumble to apply pressure to the wound, ignoring his shout of agony and watching as dark blood bubbles over your hands. “Man down, man down,” you can’t stop yourself from repeating. “Gaz, hold on.”

“It's alright. I'm just... Shot through the heart,” he hums a familiar tune, voice shaky and weaker than normal but still that ball of sunshine. When you place what he’s singing, you could throttle him if you weren’t so terrified of him dying under your touch. “Darling, you give love a bad name. Come on, sing it with me.”

It’s an inside joke, communicating in song lyrics. Some stupid game the two of you started on one of your first missions to fill the silence and keep tensions down. Keep one another out of their head and grounded in the moment.

“Don’t sing Bon Jovi at me right now,” You apply pressure and look around for a medic, seeing… no one. No exfil, no local police or paramedics. “Don’t joke like that, Garrick. Where the fuck is are the medics? It’s a public…” You adjust your comms with the speed of light and address Price in a tone you would never think to take with him. “I repeat, Gaz is down and I need a fucking medic, Cap.”

“Calm down love, I’ll be-” Gaz lets out a string of curses when you readjust to apply better pressure, panicking at how much blood he’s losing. “Fine. I’ll be fine, it’ll make for a killer story.”