Chapter Text
Price had survived artillery fire, hostage negotiations, and Nikolai’s cooking experiments in the Balkans.
None of that prepared him for snack time.
The small orphanage, warm, sunlit, and supposedly peaceful, looked like a crime scene.
Crumbs carpeted the floor. Apple juice dripped slowly off the corner of a low table. Someone, Soap, was standing on a chair, triumphantly holding half a biscuit over his head like he’d just won a war.
Price pinched the bridge of his nose. “Johnny.." he said in the calm, deadly tone that once stopped grown men in their tracks. “Down.”
Soap beamed at him.
“Feck!” the toddler shouted cheerfully, in a thick little burr.
Then added something rapid-fire in Scots slang that definitely wasn’t in any children’s books.
Nikolai choked on his coffee.
“Oh, that one is mine!" He said proudly.
Across the room, Ghost sat perfectly still on the rug. He hadn’t moved in ten minutes. A black dummy was lodged firmly in his mouth, the matte silicone almost disappearing against his hoodie. His pale little hands rested in his lap, fingers curled around a battered stuffed wolf.
He watched the chaos with wide, unblinking eyes. Judging.
Roach was crying.
Not screaming...whimpering. The tragic, hiccupping sound of a child who had dropped his cracker and seen his entire life flash before his eyes.
Gaz knelt next to him, patting his back with surprising competence for someone who still mispronounced banana.
“It okay,” Gaz said seriously. “We get new one.”
Roach sniffed. “Mine…”
“We wash it.”
Soap chose that exact moment to fling his biscuit like a grenade.
It hit the wall. Then slid down.
Price’s eye twitched.
“Johnny—”
“I fly!” Soap announced, leaping off the chair.
He did not, in fact, fly. He landed on a cushion Nikolai had foolishly left nearby, bounced, and took out the juice pitcher with his elbow. Orange liquid cascaded across the table.
Roach wailed louder.
Gaz gasped. “SOAP.”
Ghost tilted his head. The dummy squeaked quietly.
Nikolai burst out laughing. Price did not. He gave his husband a 'not impressed' expression, his eyebrows furrowed then let out a deep exasperated exhale.
He marched over, lifted Soap under the arms, and set him firmly on the floor.
“No throwing food.”
Soap blinked up at him.
“…shite.”
Price closed his eyes.
“Where did he learn that?”
Nikolai sipped his coffee then gave John a pointed look with his eyes. “Atmosphere.”
John narrowed his eyes. He might have slipped out the word a few times.
Ghost suddenly toddled to his feet. He padded over to the juice soaked table, inspected the spreading puddle, then carefully placed his wolf on a dry chair.
Good. Responsible.
Then he stepped directly into the juice.
Squish.
Price opened one eye.
“…Simon.”
Ghost stared at his wet sock. Then at Price, slowly, tilting his head to the side, brown eyes looking innocent and determined. Then, very deliberately, sat down in the puddle.
Gaz screamed. “NO NO!"
Roach stopped crying just to watch.
Soap clapped and giggled. “Again!”
Ghost leaned back onto his hands, juice soaking into his trousers, dummy still firmly in place.
Squeak.
Nikolai wheezed with laughter.
“Oh. Oh, he is a menace.”
Price exhaled slowly. “We talked about sitting in liquids, son."
Ghost did not blink. Did not move. Held eye contact.
Price lost.
“…Right. Nikolai, towels.”
Nikolai tossed him three.
Soap immediately stole one and put it on his head like a cape.
“I hero!”
“You are sticky! Yucky!" Gaz informed him.
Roach sniffled and tugged Price’s trouser leg gently while rubbing at his eyes sleepily with his free hand. “Snack…”
Price softened instantly. He crouched, produced a clean cracker from his pocket, because he always carried emergency crackers, and handed it over. Roach accepted it like sacred treasure.
Ghost watched. Two seconds later, Ghost waddled over and gently pushed his wet cracker toward Roach.
Gaz blinked. Soap stared blankly.
Roach paused. “…for me?”
Ghost nodded once. Dummy squeaked.
Roach burst into fresh tears. Happy ones.
Price stared, watching the small scene go down.
Nikolai wiped his eyes. “See? Soft inside.”
Ghost promptly laid down in the juice again.
Price sighed. “Snack time’s over.”
Soap gasped. “NO.”
“Yes, son."
Soap muttered something under his breath that sounded extremely rude for someone wearing dinosaur socks.
Gaz folded his arms like a tiny schoolteacher. “You bad."
Soap grinned, mischievously.
Ghost sucked his dummy.
Roach crunched happily.
Nikolai leaned over to Price.
“They are going to destroy us.”
Price surveyed the soaked floor, the crumbs, the juice coated toddler, the swearing Scot, the teary sweetheart, and the three-year-old mediator.
“…Yes,” he said, exhaling deeply for the hundredth time. "...they sure bloody will." He smiled.