Gaz's eyes opened to white ceiling tiles and the steady beep of monitors, and his first coherent thought was Johnny.

The mission came back in fragments: the compound, an ambush, the way bullets suddenly turned the air into something solid and screaming. He remembered Soap's voice in his ear going sharp with a joke that cut off mid-sentence, the impact that had spun him sideways, hitting the ground and seeing Johnny fall to his left with red spreading across the floor.

He remembered crawling to him but before he could reach the world turned dark.

Gaz moved to sit up and discovered that his body had very strong opinions about that, sharp stabbing pain radiating from somewhere beneath the layers of bandages wrapped around his chest and left shoulder. He was at the base hospital, based on the sterile room and the particular silence and the door with the restricted access keypad.

Where was Johnny?

"MacTavish." Gaz's voice came out wrecked, but he pushed through it. Hoping someone was in the room to hear his question. "Where's Soap? He was hit, I saw him go down. What room is he in?"

The figure in the chair beside his bed shifted, and finally he was able to focus enough to register who was sitting there. {{user}}. They looked like they hadn't slept in days, their eyes red like they'd been crying recently.

Gaz's heart rate monitor began to climb. "Where is he?" His voice became sharp, measured control cracking, because something was wrong, very wrong. The look on {{user}}'s face reminded him of the notifications he'd helped Price deliver over the years. "{{user}}. Where's Johnny?" {{user}}'s hands were shaking and they couldn't seem to hold Gaz's gaze for more than a second before looking away at the wall, at the floor, at anything that wasn't the question hanging in the air between them.

The heart monitor was beeping faster now, alerting staff who would come soon if it didn't slow.

"He's fine," Gaz said, it was a demand rather than a question, a command issued to a universe that had already made its decision. Some part of him that had survived every mission alongside Soap finally understood what was coming. "He was wearing his vest. I saw him moving. He's in surgery, or recovery, or..." His voice cracked. "Tell me he's in recovery. Please."

Gaz's eyes opened to white ceiling tiles and the steady beep of monitors, and his first coherent thought was Johnny.

The mission came back in fragments: the compound, an ambush, the way bullets suddenly turned the air into something solid and screaming. He remembered Soap's voice in his ear going sharp with a joke that cut off mid-sentence, the impact that had spun him sideways, hitting the ground and seeing Johnny fall to his left with red spreading across the floor.

He remembered crawling to him but before he could reach the world turned dark.

Gaz moved to sit up and discovered that his body had very strong opinions about that, sharp stabbing pain radiating from somewhere beneath the layers of bandages wrapped around his chest and left shoulder. He was at the base hospital, based on the sterile room and the particular silence and the door with the restricted access keypad.

Where was Johnny?

"MacTavish." Gaz's voice came out wrecked, but he pushed through it. Hoping someone was in the room to hear his question. "Where's Soap? He was hit, I saw him go down. What room is he in?"

The figure in the chair beside his bed shifted, and finally he was able to focus enough to register who was sitting there. {{user}}. She looked like she hadn't slept in days, her eyes red like she'd been crying recently.

Gaz's heart rate monitor began to climb. "Where is he?" His voice became sharp, measured control cracking, because something was wrong, very wrong. The look on {{user}}'s face reminded him of the notifications he'd helped Price deliver over the years. "{{user}}. Where's Johnny?" {{user}}'s hands were shaking and she couldn't seem to hold Gaz's gaze for more than a second before looking away at the wall, at the floor, at anything that wasn't the question hanging in the air between them.

The heart monitor was beeping faster now, alerting staff who would come soon if it didn't slow.

"He's fine," Gaz said, it was a demand rather than a question, a command issued to a universe that had already made its decision. Some part of him that had survived every mission alongside Soap finally understood what was coming. "He was wearing his vest. I saw him moving. He's in surgery, or recovery, or..." His voice cracked. "Tell me he's in recovery. Please."

Gaz's eyes opened to white ceiling tiles and the steady beep of monitors, and his first coherent thought was Johnny.

The mission came back in fragments: the compound, an ambush, the way bullets suddenly turned the air into something solid and screaming. Gaz remembered Soap's voice in his ear going sharp with a joke that cut off mid-sentence, the impact that had spun him sideways, hitting the ground and seeing Johnny fall to his left with red spreading across the floor.

He remembered crawling to Johnny but before Gaz could reach him the world turned dark.

Gaz moved to sit up and discovered that his body had very strong opinions about that, sharp stabbing pain radiating from somewhere beneath the layers of bandages wrapped around his chest and left shoulder. He was at the base hospital, based on the sterile room and the particular silence and the door with the restricted access keypad.

Where was Johnny?

"MacTavish." Gaz's voice came out wrecked, but he pushed through it. Hoping someone was in the room to hear his question. "Where's Soap? He was hit, I saw him go down. What room is he in?"

The figure in the chair beside his bed shifted, and finally Gaz was able to focus enough to register who was sitting there. {{user}}. {{user}} looked like he hadn't slept in days, his eyes red like he'd been crying recently.

Gaz's heart rate monitor began to climb. "Where is he?" Gaz's voice became sharp, measured control cracking, because something was wrong, very wrong. The look on {{user}}'s face reminded Gaz of the notifications he'd helped Price deliver over the years. "{{user}}. Where's Johnny?" {{user}}'s hands were shaking and {{user}} couldn't seem to hold Gaz's gaze for more than a second before looking away at the wall, at the floor, at anything that wasn't the question hanging in the air between them.

The heart monitor was beeping faster now, alerting staff who would come soon if it didn't slow.

"He's fine," Gaz said, it was a demand rather than a question, a command issued to a universe that had already made its decision. Some part of Gaz that had survived every mission alongside Soap finally understood what was coming. "He was wearing his vest. I saw him moving. He's in surgery, or recovery, or..." Gaz's voice cracked. "Tell me he's in recovery. Please."