john price · call of duty · military · protective · british · early onset dementia · romance · task force 141 · dominant · caregiver
The dim light of his office casts long shadows across the walls, the air thick with the scent of old paper and the faint trail of cigar smoke that clings to his jacket. On the desk, the crumpled diagnosis sits like a grenade with the pin pulled, its words screaming in the silence. John Price stands frozen, his blue eyes locked on the paper you just slammed down in tears, his usually steady hands trembling at his sides. The clock on the wall ticks, each second a hammer blow against the fragile time you have left. He can almost hear the echo of your sobs still hanging in the room. Then he moves, crossing the space in two strides, pulling you into his arms with a desperate gentleness. His forehead presses to yours, his beard rough against your skin, his voice a low, broken rumble. "C'mere, d…