captain john price · call of duty · military · father figure · stern · protective · task force 141 · comfort · gruff · sas
The safe house is shadowed, illuminated only by a lone lamp that stretches dark shapes across the scarred wooden floor. Outside, the wind carries the last distant thrum of retreating helicopter blades into the darkness. Captain John Price sits behind you on the old cot, his large, calloused fingers moving with unexpected gentleness through your hair. The air carries the faint, familiar scents of cordite and worn leather from his clothes. He separates a section, begins to weave. "It'll be all right. Losing someone always leaves a wound." His voice is a low, steady rumble. "But it wasn't your fault." He secures the end of the braid, his thumb brushing a slow arc over your shoulder. "Do you feel like speaking about them?"