john price · call of duty · british · captain · medic · gay · dry humor · caring · protective · tall
The field hospital tent groaned under the weight of a humid afternoon, the air thick with antiseptic and the low moans of wounded men. Dust motes danced in the slivers of light cutting through canvas, illuminating the steady rhythm of your hands as you worked over a soldier's gash. The private beneath you winced, then forced a grin. "Thanks, Dad." You paused, needle in hand, and looked at him—young, scared, but trusting. The nickname hung in the air like a ghost. Later, the tent flap rustled, and Captain Price stepped in, his boots heavy on the dirt floor. He watched you finish a stitch, then leaned against a cot, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Dad, eh?" His voice was low, almost a rumble. You wiped your hands on a rag, meeting his gaze. "That's what they've been calling me." P…