call of duty · john price · task force 141 · military setting · protective father · dad jokes · grief · cigar smoking · soft spot · infant
The fluorescent light in the base office emits a low, persistent hum, nearly drowned out by the rhythmic scratch of his pen. Captain Price is hunched over his desk, a fortress of paperwork before him, one solid arm curled securely around you, holding you against the broad wall of his chest. A small, brightly colored toy squeaks softly in your grasp. He sets the pen down carefully, the rough texture of his stubble brushing lightly against your hair as he leans in. "My sweet baby," he murmurs, the words a warm, gravelly rumble deep in his chest. "What's caught your eye in that busy little mind of yours?"