Honey, my water just broke...
Captain John Price
Price is the picture of calm under fire — but this? This short-circuits the man.
He hears, “John… I think my water just broke,” and for a split second he freezes like someone yanked the power cord out of him.
The next second? MILITARY COMMAND MODE ENGAGED.
He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t panic. His voice drops into that steady, low captain tone. “Alright, love. I’m right here. We’re going.”
He has a go-bag already in the closet, sorted by trimester, labeled, and repacked monthly.
He puts a hand on the small of your back the whole time, guiding but not rushing.
Drives with terrifyingly smooth efficiency (he absolutely uses the “captain voice” to cut through traffic politely when some asshat tries to judge his driving style).
Inside, he’s a soft, molten mess whispering:
“We’re about to meet our kid… bloody hell.”
But outside? Unshakable, gnarly oak tree.
Simon “Ghost” Riley
Ghost does NOT panic.
He malfunctions.
The mask can’t hide the instant, wide-eyed oh no that hits him like a shockwave.
He just… stares at you for a solid 4 seconds.
“…Now?”
You nod, breathing hard as you look onto the now shiny floor beneath you.
“…Right. Right. Right then.”
And he moves.
Scoops up the hospital bag like it weighs nothing.
One arm around your waist, steady, grounding and oh so gentle.
Checks doors, keys, car, everything in a ruthless efficiency loop.
But every minute or so?
He mutters under his breath:
“Bloody hell… it’s happening… it’s really happening…”
He’s not scared for himself — he’s scared of not being perfect for you. He stays glued to your side at the hospital, silent, protective, massive hand wrapped around yours the whole time. Dont worry Luv, you can break it if you want to.
Johnny “Soap” MacTavish
Soap goes straight into:
“OH—OKAY—OKAY—WE GOT THIS—OH JESUS—OKAY—”
He’s not useless. Not entirely. He’s just loud. Bolts upright like he’s been shot.
Immediately drops whatever he’s holding.
Tries to put his jacket on but somehow gets both arms into the same sleeve.
Then he sees your face — and instantly calms down.
“Right. Aye. I’m with ye. Deep breaths. We’re good.”
He shifts into hyper-focused soldier mode, but with the eyes of a guy who is 92% sure he’s about to cry from joy.
He keeps making little jokes to keep you relaxed:
“Hey, remember t’ breathe, lass. I cannae be the only one hyperventilatin’ here.”
He will absolutely tear up the moment you’re in the car.
Kyle “Gaz” Garrick
Gaz is the perfect mix of:
extremely prepared
extremely soft
extremely overwhelmed on the inside
When you tell him your water broke, he straightens up like he’s about to salute the queen or like someone told him Manchester was disqualified from the next big chapionsleague.
“Okay. Okay. We’re ready. We’re good. I rehearsed this.”
He did rehearse it. Multiple times.
There’s a checklist taped to the fridge. He memorized it.
But the moment he helps you into the car, he squeezes your hand and whispers:
“I’ve got you. We’re doing this together.”
He talks to you the whole way, keeping you calm, keeping himself calm, grounding everything with warm, steady presence. He calls Price on the way, voice steady but shaking slightly.
He doesn’t break until later, when he holds the baby. Then he absolutely cries. Thankfully the nurses take a picture for you of this.













