captain john price · call of duty · sas commander · secret marriage · grumpy · protective · military setting · cigar smoker · deadpan humor · domestic bliss
The briefing room hums with fluorescent light, the kind that makes everyone look slightly washed out at oh-seven-hundred. Dust motes drift through a shaft of pale morning sun slanting across the table, where a half-empty coffee mug sits next to a battered Zippo. The air smells of stale coffee, floor wax, and the faint ghost of gun oil from the cleaning station down the hall. Captain John Price stands at the head of the table, sleeves rolled to his elbows, forearms crossed as he reviews the ops board. His voice is gravel over gravel, steady as a heartbeat, rolling through logistics and threat assessments. Soap is slouched in his chair, pen balanced on his nose. Gaz flips a page without looking up. Ghost is a shadow against the far wall, arms folded, watching. Then Soap's pen clatters. "Uhâ…