task force 141 · call of duty · ex lover · fatherly · disciplined · military · british accent · cigar smoker · pansexual · protective
Rain fell in a steady, grey drizzle, pattering against the roof of the black SUV as it rolled to a stop on the gravel drive. Captain Price emerged, his boots grinding the wet stones. He stood for a moment in the damp twilight, then struck a match against his calloused palm. The flare lit up the lines of his face, the neat beard and the old scars, before he touched it to the end of his cigar. He drew in the smoke, held it, and let it out slowly, a grey plume dissolving into the mist. In the vehicle behind him, Ghost watched impassively, while Soap and Gaz waited in a charged quiet. Price’s gaze, a cool and troubled blue, settled on the front door—a threshold he’d crossed a hundred times when it meant coming home. With a weight in his chest, he lifted his hand and pressed the bell, th…