MacTavish sat idly, staring into his cup of coffee. He watched the steam float up from cup, entranced.

"Little cold to be outside, aint it?"

The captain looked lazily over his shoulder. Price was descending the stairs from the briefing room, his boots clunking loudly on the snow dusted cement. He stopped and sat down on the bottom step next to MacTavish, who shrugged and continued to stare down into the black depths of his coffee.

"Just wanted some quite, you know how its gets here."

He took a generous sip and turned, expecting Price to at least raise an eyebrow.

He didn't, only nodded understandingly.

"Been meaning to ask you about that. How do you stand it Soap?"

"Ey?"

Price scoffed, tucking his hands into his pockets for warmth.

"You perfectly well know what I'm talking about."

MacTavish smiled slightly and nodded, taking another sip. He let a small sigh escape his lips.

"It's not that bad here."

"Not that bad?" Price took both his hands back out. He counted on his fingers as he talked, as if to emphasize his point. "Let's see, Ghost never sleeps and flies off the handle constantly."

MacTavish shrugged again, looking up at the stars calmly.

"If he wanted to kill any of us, he would've by now. Just give him some tea and hes fine."

"…. And then there's Roach, who's overly hyper and gets into everything."

"He tires out eventually, and when he gets into things…." MacTavish reached into the front pocket of his shirt and pulled out a key chain, which had several shiny objects hanging from it. "I give him this. Keeps him entertained for a bit."

Prices jaw dropped slightly. He shook his head disapprovingly and continued his rant.

"What about Archer? He uses Roach as target practice on a daily basis."

"Hasn't hit him so far, I'm not worried."

"Meat? He constantly picks fights with everybody in the base."

"He hasn't since I tied him to the flag pole last week." MacTavish let out a harsh laugh "Showed him what for."

"Or….. Royce?"

MacTavish turned his head and furrowed his brow, thinking. He shook his head.

"What's Royce ever do?"

"He started that bloody food fight last week. There was food on the damn ceiling."

"Wasn't even aware that even happened, honestly."

"Dear lord So-"

Both turned to the right as a half laugh, half scream cut through the night air. A few seconds later Roach rounded the corner of the building into sight, Ghosts mask gripped firmly in his hand. The bare faced lieutenant was at his heels, screaming profanities.

Roach slowed slightly as he slipped on some ice, almost losing his balance.

"THE BRITISH ARE COMING, THE BRITISH ARE COMING!"

"ILL SQUASH YOU BUG!"

Ghost lunged forward, tackling the smaller man to the ground. Snow stuck to both of them in thick white patches as they rolled around, Roach screaming bloody murder and Ghosts accent too thick to understand.

Finally Ghost got on top and pinned Roach down, retrieving his mask and pulling it on. He raised his fist for a punch, but held it back in midair, his chest heaving. The sergeant grinned.

"That's right. You can't hit me, sir."

Ghost let his arm fall down, thinking. Suddenly, an evil smile grew under his mask.

"Aye, so I'll just tickle you."

"Wh-what?"

The Englishman began ruthlessly jabbing at Roach's sides, causing him to squirm and laugh uncontrollably.

"No! NO! HELP! I NEED AN ADULT!"

While all this was happening Price turned to his younger friend, shocked.

"Are…. You going to break that up?"

MacTavish shrugged calmly, taking another sip of coffee.

"Nope."