COD Oneshots

Family Business (Gaz)

The dim glow of the training room's fluorescent lights cast sharp shadows on the mat, the air thick with sweat and unspoken words. Y/N and Gaz circled each other, tension crackling between them like a live wire.

For the first time in years, they were working together again—Task Force 141. Neither of them had been thrilled about it.

Gaz had been the golden child, rising through the ranks with an impressive track record. Y/N had carved her own path, just as relentless, just as skilled, but in a different way. They were too alike in all the wrong ways. Too stubborn. Too proud. And after years apart, the pressure of working side by side again had become unbearable.

So, they did what they always did when words failed them.

They fought.

Gaz lunged first, throwing a sharp jab toward her ribs. Y/N dodged, countering with a swift hook aimed at his jaw. He barely managed to duck, retaliating with a low sweep. She stumbled, but recovered quickly, rolling to her feet.

"You're getting slow, Kyle," she taunted, breathless.

Gaz smirked, wiping sweat from his brow. "And you're still reckless."

The sparring match intensified. Punches landed harder. Blocks turned into shoves. A friendly training session had devolved into an all-out brawl, years of frustration bleeding into every movement. The grudges, the unspoken arguments, the bitterness of the past—they all exploded in a flurry of fists and gritted teeth.

Then, finally, they collapsed.

Flat on their backs, panting, arms sprawled out beside each other on the cold mat. The fight was over. Maybe it had never really been about winning.

Silence settled between them, the only sound their labored breathing.

Gaz turned his head toward her, swallowing thickly. "Say something happy, at least."

Y/N let out a slow exhale before answering, voice dry and blunt as ever.

"Well... Dad's dead."

For a moment, there was nothing.

Then, Gaz barked out a laugh. A real, deep, uncontrollable laugh. Y/N followed, her laughter bubbling up until it shook her sore ribs.

It wasn't that their father's death was funny—far from it. But after everything, the years of resentment, of silence, of going their separate ways only to end up back in the same place—it was absurd. Morbid. Hilariously fitting.

They laughed until their stomachs ached, until the tension that had been strangling them for weeks finally broke.

Finally, Y/N turned her head to him, still grinning. "Truce?"

Gaz chuckled, nudging her arm with his elbow. "Yeah. Truce."

For the first time since reuniting, it felt like they were actually on the same side again.