Snow day.
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The first time it snows on base, you almost miss it.
It’s mid-November, the kind of cold that bites at your nose and creeps under the sleeves of your jacket. Everyone had warned you about winters here; how they’re brutal, gray, and endless..but no one mentioned the snow. Or maybe they did, in passing, the way people talk about things they’ve always known, assuming everyone else has too.
You grew up somewhere winter was just… colder rain. Frost on the grass if you were lucky. Ice on puddles you could crack with your shoe. Snow was something you saw in movies, on Christmas cards, or in pictures online.
Not something that just… fell out of the sky.
You’re halfway across the base yard when something cold taps your cheek.
You flinch, hand coming up instinctively, like someone tossed a pebble at you. But when your fingers brush your skin, they come away damp.
“…What?”
Another one lands on your sleeve.
Then another.
You look down.
Tiny white specks dot the dark fabric of your jacket. Soft. Delicate. Already melting into dark pinpricks.
Your brain takes a moment to catch up.
Your eyes slowly lift to the sky.
And then you see it.
Snow.
Not heavy, not the thick storms people complain about—just soft, drifting flakes, floating down lazily like feathers.
Your mouth falls open.
“Oh my god.”
You spin in a slow circle, watching them fall. Onto the pavement. Onto the parked vehicles. Onto the metal railings and rooftops.
“OH MY GOD!”
You drop the paperwork you were carrying without even noticing, hands stretching out in front of you like you’re trying to catch the sky itself.
Your gloves are off before you even realize what you’re doing.
Snowflakes land in your palm.
They’re so small. So light.
And they vanish almost instantly.
You gasp like someone just showed you a magic trick.
Across the yard, Soap is the first to notice you.
He’s halfway through lighting a cigarette when he pauses, lighter hovering in the air.
“…What’s she doin’?”
Gaz follows his line of sight.
You’re standing in the middle of the yard with your arms out like a kid in a cartoon, head tilted back toward the sky, spinning slowly while snow lands in your hair.
Soap squints.
“Is she… dancin’?”
Ghost, leaning against the wall nearby, glances up.
He watches for a few seconds.
You laugh—an unfiltered, breathless sound that carries across the cold air.
Then you shout.
“IT’S SNOWING!”
Soap blinks.
“…Aye.”
You whip around toward them like they’ve just confirmed the existence of aliens.
“IT’S SNOWING!” You repeat, just as enthusiastically.
Gaz snorts.
“Yes. That does tend to happen.”
But you’re already running toward them.
Actually running.
You skid slightly when your boots hit the damp pavement near them, breath puffing in white clouds.
“LOOK!”
You shove your hands out toward them like you’re presenting evidence.
Snowflakes land in your palms.
“They’re so tiny!”
Soap stares at you for a long moment.
“…Have you never seen snow before?”
You look at him like the answer should be obvious.
“No!”
Silence.
Soap glances at Gaz.
Gaz glances at Ghost.
Ghost is staring at you.
“…You’re serious..?” Gaz says slowly.
“Dead serious!”
Another snowflake lands on your nose.
You don’t even notice.
“I’ve seen it in movies! But it’s not the same, it’s like—” you gesture wildly upward, “—it’s actually falling!”
Soap lets out a sudden laugh.
Not mean. Just completely unprepared.
“You’re tellin’ me you’ve gone yer whole life without snow?”
“Yes!”
Gaz shakes his head in disbelief.
“Where the hell did you grow up?”
“Where it’s warm, Duh!” you say defensively, like that should explain everything.
Price steps out of the building behind them just in time to hear the commotion.
“What’s all the—”
He stops.
Looks at you.
Then at the sky.
Then back at you, practically vibrating with excitement while trying to catch snowflakes in your bare hands.
“…What’s she doin’?”
Soap wipes a tear from the corner of his eye.
“Never seen snow before, Cap.”
Price raises an eyebrow.
“You’re joking.”
You rush toward him immediately like he’s the next person who needs to witness the miracle.
“Captain, look!”
He glances down at the snow in your palm.
“…Yes.”
Your eyes are shining.
“They’re like little stars!”
Price exhales slowly through his nose, clearly trying not to smile.
Behind him, Ghost tilts his head slightly, still watching you.
You suddenly crouch down, staring at the ground where the snow is starting to dust the pavement.
Then you scoop some up.
Or try to…It’s mostly slush.
“Wait—hold on—”
You gather a small handful anyway, packing it together like wet sand.
“What are you making?” Gaz asks.
You stand up proudly.
“A snowball!”
It looks like a damp lump of sadness.
Soap grins.
“That’s the worst snowball I’ve ever seen.”
You beam anyway.
Then, without warning—
You throw it.
It explodes against Soap’s chest.
Everyone freezes.
Soap stares down at the wet smear on his shirt.
Slowly…
Slowly…
He looks up.
“Oh, you’ve made a mistake.”
You gasp.
Then you bolt.
Laughter bursts out of you as your boots slip on the wet pavement while Soap charges after you like an unleashed dog.
Gaz is already scooping snow off a railing.
“Captain, permission to engage?”
Price sighs like a tired father watching chaos unfold.
“…Go on then.”
Ghost watches the whole thing quietly as you duck behind a truck, shrieking when Soap nearly catches you.
Snowflakes collect in your hair.
On your shoulders.
In your eyelashes.
You look happier than he’s ever seen you.
You peek around the truck and lock eyes with him.
Your grin is immediate.
“Ghost!”
He already knows.
“…No.”
You scoop snow off the hood of the truck anyway.
“Ghost—!”
“Don’t.”
“You have to!”
“You’re not throwin’ that at me.”
Your grin widens.
Soap yells from behind you.
“DO IT!”
And you do.
The snowball barely survives the throw, breaking apart against his shoulder.
Everyone waits.
Ghost looks down at the melting snow on his jacket.
Then at you.
You suddenly look very small.
“…Sorry?”
There’s a pause.
Then Ghost bends down.
Scoops up a handful of snow.
And starts packing it slowly.
Your eyes go wide.
“Oh no.”
Soap howls with laughter.
Gaz claps you on the back as he runs past.
“Run.”
You run.
Your laughter echoes across the base yard as the first snow of the year falls gently from the sky.
Now, the Task Force finally understands why someone would get excited about snow.
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