Graves: Morally, I could be winning gold medals in rhythmic gymnastics.

Price:

Graves: Or was that a proposition of another kind, Captain?

Who knew inviting a Russian who could outdrink an elephant would make it all go to shit so quickly?

Price. Price knew. He'd assumed the man would have SOME semblance of self-control, but again. Russians. Best qualities and worsts and whatever the fuck. And Graves? He's even fucking worse, attempting to out drink the man and then subsequently starting some sort of petty squabble with said man, to where Price has to drag them both out by the ears and scolds them like he's talking to roudy teenagers.

But, instead of it actually clicking in their minds that they have a lesson to learn, it ends with them piling ontop of the british man in the back of Nik's truck and unspeakable things happen. Things they do not bring up. Ever.

Ghoap x Graves is begrudgingly acceptance and slow redemption and ever slower romance.

Alerudy x Graves is starting with pure physical attraction and hatred, no redemption and no remorse, with a chuck of toxicity, then 3/4 in maybe a speck of romance if any. ‘I will fuck as much as I want and then i’m hunting you for sport then skin you alive’ mixed ‘missionary so we can continuing arguing’ personified. Literally so much tension that if it had a physical form they would choke each other out with it. With Alejandro and Rodolfo, it’s nice and sweet with each other meetings are done, there’s peace…but when Phillip enters a room?

John can't help but laugh, a loud deep belly laugh at the sheer sincerity in the other man's voice.

Phillip Graves thinks he can be quiet.

"If someone put a ball gag on you, you'd chew your way out of it. Your mouth never stops moving. You wouldn't know quiet if it slapped your arse and bent you over."

Shadow 2-1: Seriously? You haven't noticed the 'please fuck me' eyes they give each other across the hanger?

Gaz trying to lighten up the mood: I’m like 80% sure this won’t explode on us

Soap carrying some mini bombs he crafted with the new recruits: Either way there’ll be an explosion, and-

Gaz: You’re here for it, yes yes we know

Soap putting on some protective equipment: I’m shitting on the consequences this time.

Ghost taking out his phone: The blame will not fall on me this time, fuck this.

Gaz: Are we gonna ignore Graves who’s strapped in surrounded by the bombs…

Price: WHERE THE FUCK IS GRAVES AND WHY IS MY OFFICE FILLED WITH SMOKE

Graves: IF YOU DON’T HIT THAT DAMN BUTTON AND EXPLODE ME RIGHT NOW.

PRICE: DYING WILL NOT SAVE YOU THIS TIME USONOFABITCH

Soap: Should I-

Ghost: No you are not gonna strap Price as well.

When Soap had managed to grapple up the wall of the side of the base, the last thing he expected was for Gaz to be the one to grab his outstretched hand and haul him up onto solid metal.

Now, that alone was a surprise enough. What only confused him and Ghost more, however, was the fact that Gaz very much seemed to be on his own. "Where's the Capt?" Soap asked, voice raised over the sound of gunfire and quickly peering over the wall as if the answer would present itself to him.

"I'm gonna be really honest with you," Gaz replied, looking somewhat sheepish and concerned rolled in one. "I've not a fucking clue. He broke off from the rest of us, said he 'had a plan' and I've not seen him since." The timing of the front gates to the compound opening up was somewhat comical.

Standing there, in all his pissed off glory, was none other than John Price. His entrance seemed to capture the attention of nearby Shadows and Soap was already raising his weapon to try and protect his clearly suicidal Captain-- but stopped. So did many of the Shadows closest to Price.

They stared at the Captain. He stared back, face mophing into a horrendous scowl. Ghost, Gaz, Soap and whatever remaining Vaqueros remained on the wall (Alejandro and Rudy included), stared in a growing cocktail of shock, confusion and borderline mortification when the Shadows saluted. Saluted. Saluted at John Price as he stalked past like a man on a mission-- like they all knew the man.

"Phillip fucking Graves!" Price shouted, his voice booming and echoing loud enough across the compound that slowly any Shadows still firing weapons stopped. Like a damn spell.