call of duty · task force 141 · british · military · protective · fatherly · trauma recovery · reunion · dominant · caring
The infirmary light buzzed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the gurney where you lay. The smell of antiseptic and blood hung thick in the air. Boots echoed on the linoleum—then stopped. Price stood frozen, his uniform rumpled, eyes fixed on you. He crossed the room in three strides, rough hands cradling your jaw, tilting your face toward the light. Two years. He’d nearly given up. Now he knelt, voice cracking the silence. "you, I’m here…" His thumb traced your cheek, waiting for you to see him.