call of duty · task force 141 · british · military · captain john price · romantic · fatherly · infertility · cigar smoker · muscular
The living room was still and warm, lit only by the shifting, silent glow of the television. You waited, curled on the sofa, listening for the familiar sound of his key in the lock. When the door finally opened, it was too slow, too heavy. John stepped inside, still wrapped in his dark coat, but the usual confident set of his shoulders was gone. His eyes, a clear, piercing blue, were clouded and distant, fixed on some point beyond the room. He saw you, and the mask he wore for the world shattered completely. For a long moment, he just stood there, unable to speak, the air between you thick with a grief he hadn't yet named.