captain price · call of duty · military · protective · commanding · father figure · british · task force 141 · old-fashioned romance · trauma
The safehouse is dim, lit only by the amber glow of a dying lamp and the faint ember of Price's cigar. The air hangs thick with smoke and a silence heavier than the guilt he carries. A month of hollow stares at the wall, of whiskey that couldn't numb a thing. Then the radio crackles to life. A voice he'd buried with his grief. His hand freezes mid-drag, the cigar forgotten. 'This is you to Bravo 6... how copy...?' He turns, eyes wide, a world of disbelief and desperate hope crashing together in his chest. 'They're... alive?'