So, I've recently finished Black Ops and immediately felt remorse over certain character's demises. Well, you've probably finished it, so there will be spoilers in the chapter to come...if you haven't finished it of course. I hope you enjoy this story, and feel free to leave a review about it~

I do not own the Call of Duty Characters, they belong to Treyarch. I only own Margaret and the characters not seen in the games. Enjoy~

Note: 8/4/2013 Edited for errors and all that lovely business. I'll be going through them one by one. I'll be updating this soon.

It was nice really.

Strange but nice.

Sitting in a bar with the soldiers she was stationed with wasn't quite what Corporal Margaret Caffrey had come to expect. Nevertheless, she sat there at the table and drank a quarter of her glass before passing a smile to one of the soldiers beside her.

She actually hadn't planned on sticking around with the boys but somehow they had convinced her to join them. Margaret drummed her fingers along the side of the glass mug, watching with intense curiosity as her companions drank themselves into a green eyes were fixated on the Sergeant that sat at their table.

Frank Woods shared a laugh with a fellow soldier, a collected fella named Alex Mason who hailed from Alaska. Apparently. The woman watched Woods with a mixture of admiration as well as some sort of allure for the man. The corporal didn't know why, but she assumed that it was because of the mood he brought to the table this evening. The handsome sergeant had short dark brown hair accompanied by dark brown stubble that formed his neatly trimmed goatee. He was out of the usual green camouflage attire, and instead was dressed in blue jeans and a white t-shirt that was covered by a tan vest, adorned with various patches related to his occupation.

"Not to mention that we have an Army chick here too." Margaret became aware of someone referring to her, and so her attention switched to the one of the soldiers sitting to her right. The remark had come from none other than Fred Rosebyrne. "You all know what they say about the Army: they 'Aren't Really Men Yet.'"

A mixture of 'oohs' and chuckles provoked her to give the young private a delicate raise of her eyebrow. Margaret's eyes scanned the expectant faces of the soldiers. Mason looked amused by the sudden situation that was thrown at her; meanwhile, Woods had leaned forward and was resting his chest on his well-toned arms. His blue eyes were shining with a twinkle of something that she couldn't quite make out.

"Well," she began as all eyes were focused on her, "you know what they say about Marines: 'Muscles are required, intelligence non-essential.'"

More whistles and 'oohs' were heard from the party of soldiers. Rosebyrne had even smirked upon Margaret's remark not at all offended by what she had said.

Her attention returned to the sergeant and immediately darted her eyes to look over at Mason.

"Nice comeback Caffrey," Woods began as the commotion died down. "Although that remark is gonna cost ya a hundred push-ups."

Mason winked at her. "Come on Woods it's only fair. She is the only Army soldier here, so she's bound to defend herself."

Margaret's attention became fixated back on her glass, if only to resist staring at Woods with a goofy expression. Unbeknownst to her, he had noticed the way she became quiet again and soon sighed before tapping his knuckles on the wooden table in order to get her attention.

"Caffrey, I'm just horse-shiting you. No need to be so damn serious, lighten' up, have fun."

She looked up and gave a small smirk in order to calm herself. "Sarge, I'm just-"

Woods cut her off by tapping his knuckles again. "Call me Frank, only these dicks call me Sarge." He gestured at the men sitting around him, well aware of the drunken chuckles each man let out.

"Hey Sarge, while we're at it let's say you and I get down and dirty one of these day." Private First Class Pete Fontaine declared, making sure to bat his eyelashes at Woods in a suggestive manner.

"I don't think your wife would appreciate it," Woods remarked while playfully shoving the other man away.

It was hard to not laugh at their antics. Although they were serious and down to business during battle, they would cut loose and enjoy each other's company during the calm moments of war. Frank looked back at Margaret and found her grinning at him.

"Hey Caffrey," she looked over at one of the other privates and found him eying her hair, "is blonde really your natural color?"

Before she had to chance to respond Woods had opened his mouth. "Knock it off, Fitz. You're drunk off your ass."

Margaret had to admit, even though these guys weren't apart of the same branch of military she was in, it was still refreshing to know that they had come to treat her as an equal. That was shocking too considering the fact that she assumed she was living in an era where American women were better off in the kitchen.

She snorted at her sudden belligerent thought and scolded herself for thinking in such a way. There was a movement going on anyways, since not all women were Stepford wives. She then lifted her glass and toke a long, hearty sip.

Woods's smirk turned into an unpleasant frown as he lifted up his own mug. He looked towards the soldiers and noticed that they were laughing their asses off, no doubt too drunk now to accompany him in getting refills. He opted to ask Mason, but when he looked to his left, he found that his chair was empty.

"Mason had to piss." Margaret had hooked her thumb behind her to where the restrooms of Maude's Tavern were located.

"Then I guess you're coming with me to get refills."

The woman lifted her hand to smooth back her dark blonde tresses before giving him a small nod. "Okay."

Margaret and Frank stood up from their seats and began merging their way through the crowded pub. She narrowly avoided tripping over a soldier who had fallen back in his seat and onto the floor. Woods had then stepped around her and bent down to help the guy up. The soldier gave him a grin before moving the chair out of their way.

"That was nice," she murmured as Woods turned back to her.

"Young is a good soldier," he continued to walk towards the bar with her in tow, "but he's a bad drunk."

The pair reached the bar and Woods gestured for the bartender over with a wave of a hand, "Tommy, another two pitchers of beer followed by a pitcher of water."

"You got it, Frank." The bartender replied with a smile before turning away to fill the order.

Margaret leaned forward with her elbows perched upon the wooden counter-top. She was already feeling the effects of the alcohol messing with her system. She was feeling drowsy, and if she didn't know any better she assumed she was already tipsy. The corporal stifled a yawn before her eyes snapped over towards her commanding officer for the time being. Woods gazed back at her with that same look in his eyes from before.

She shook her head before turning away from him. "What?"

"Nothing Sarge," Margaret said with a small smile.

"I'm just trying to get you to be one of us," Woods defended just as Tommy had placed the two pitchers of beer in front of him. "God knows you Army people are always so goddamn serious."

His comment made her look back over at him, aware that their orders had been filled. "We are not."

"Right," Woods muttered while lifting the two pitchers of beer and leaving her to hold the water.

The two remained silent upon arriving back at the table. Margaret placed the pitchers down on the table, well aware that Mason was supporting his head with the palm of his hand. She sat back down while lifting her glass to finish the rest of her beer. Once she was done she poured herself some water, hoping that that would make her feel less tipsy.

Bringing the glass up to her lips she took a large gulp before placing the glass down. A sudden sensation suddenly came about her chest, and before she could stop herself, she let out a belch.

All of the soldiers at her table had turned to give her multiple curious looks, but it was Private Rosebyrne who had acquired a mischievous smirk all of the sudden.

"Nice one, Corporal. Looks like you're one of us now."

Margaret flushed a light shade of red while trying to be discrete about her smile. "It was an accident."

Woods waved off her cover while giving her one of his easy going grins. "Don't sweat it, Caffrey." He picked up his mug and swallowed a gulp of his drink before setting it down with a satisfied sigh. "You're a part of this unit now."

What was odd about what he said was the fact that he sounded dead serious about it.

When Margaret immigrated to America some years ago, she felt left out and alone due to the fact that the country seemed segregated. The area of New York that she had moved to had a district specifically for her nationality; all Irish all around. She avoided talking of her family as much as possible; for fear that remembering that they were still very much alive would break her mentally.

Margaret's hands gripped around her mug tightly, her eyes growing distant as she unintentionally separated herself from the tavern.

You are a part of this family. You will forever be a part of this family no matter where you run to.

"She's doing it again." Mason muttered to Woods, being cautious to not let the other soldiers find out. "You know for being born and raised in Ireland, Caffrey's done a decent job in disguising her accent."

Woods turned to look at his friend; a mixture of irritation as well as worry was evident in his blue eyes. He wasn't sure whether or not something was psychologically wrong with the Corporal, but he was well observant that this wasn't the first time she had pulled off the sudden distant demeanor.

"She's not disguising it. It's more like she's suppressing it. There's times where she catches herself from saying words with a heavy accent." He spared the woman another glance before looking down at his wristwatch.

"Maybe it's time to take her home now."

Mason nodded, understanding that Woods was a keener observer of people than he ever could be. He slowly got out of his chair and walked over to Margaret. Alex carefully laid a hand on her shoulder which in turn made her flinch from the sudden contact. Her green eyes glanced up at her colleague and immediately caught the hint.

Margaret had then turned her focus back to Woods just as he gave her a reassuring smile. "Mason will take care of you, considering the fact that he's the only sober bastard here." Mason gave a subtle eye roll before stepping back and allowing her to stand up. "If he tries anything, let me know and I'll set him straight."

"Thanks for thinking of me that way, Woods."

Frank chuckled at the remark.

Caffrey elbowed Mason in the chest with a playful smirk before giving Woods a small nod. "Thanks for looking out for me, Sergeant."

"I said to call me Frank."

"Call me Frank." She repeated while sharing a look of amusement with Mason.

The two bid the soldiers a farewell before heading towards the tavern's exit. Margaret blinked as soon as she passed by a man who had instantly caught her interest. He seemed familiar to her in a way she couldn't quite explain, and the more she tried to remember, the more it just seemed to evade her. The man in question didn't seem to notice the servicewoman, but Mason noticed that she had fallen out of step with his brisk cadence.

Alex found her standing still some ways away from where he was. Her eyebrows were pulled together in deep thought which was not at all a surprise to him considering the fact that she always looked that way. Although this time, it seemed as though something had caught her attention.

"Margaret?" Her eyes darted over to him in one swift movement. "Is something wrong?"

Margaret seemed to come out of her daze just then, and had decided to quickly catch up to Mason in two short strides. He continued to gaze at her with uncertainty even though she was wearing a smile to cover up her usual serious demeanor.

Nevertheless, Margaret put on a facade specifically for Alex. Because knowing him, he would most likely mention this to Woods. "Never better." She watched as he held the door open for in order to leave the alcohol ridden establishment. "Never better."