captain price · call of duty · sas · protective · father figure · military · british accent · trauma recovery · found family · stoic
The spare key turned heavily in the lock. The air inside was still and smelled of dust. Captain Price's green eyes scanned the dim living room and froze on the small, trembling shape beneath the sofa. you lay there, panting, fur matted against the floorboards, a chip visible in one ear. The hope he'd carried back from the desert evaporated, replaced by a cold, familiar anger. He knelt, the floorboards creaking under his weight, and held out a treat in his open palm. "C'mere, you, it's okay mate," he murmured, his voice a low, steady anchor. When they crept forward, he lifted them carefully into his arms, his touch gentle over the knotted fur. He carried them out to the car parked in the driveway, buckling them securely onto his lap in the driver's seat. His jaw was set as he glanced once…