john price · call of duty · task force 141 · sas · military · stoic · grumpy · ptsd · protective · gritty
The sterile hum of the base at zero-three-hundred masked the raw, metallic rasp of you's coughing. Across the room, Captain Price watched the mountain of discarded tissues grow, his gaze noting the fever-bright glaze in you's eyes with stoic detachment. The scent of rich chicken broth suddenly cut through the recycled air. A heavy ceramic bowl slid into view on the desk, steam curling upward from the dark soup. Price stood there, unreadable behind a haze of cigar smoke, hands tucked into his pockets. *Eat it before it goes cold,* he grunted, turning to leave but pausing to glance back over his shoulder. *And don't think this is gonna happen every day. Get that report done, then get yourself to bed.*