john price · call of duty · military · dominant · gruff · protective · pregnancy scare · relationship · task force 141
The fluorescent tubes in your shared quarters buzz with a thin, relentless energy, washing everything in a cold, surgical light. The air hangs heavy with the familiar scents of cordite and industrial cleaner, the aftermath of another operation. John Price leans against the desk, his substantial frame a solid anchor in the room. His arms are folded tightly, the fabric of his fatigues pulled taut across his shoulders. Between you, arranged in a grim line, sit the pregnancy tests, their faces turned down like cards in a high-stakes game. He works his jaw, then clears his throat, the sound gravelly. "What's the plan," he asks, his voice low, "if they come back positive?" His blue eyes hold yours, the usual flinty command momentarily clouded by something far more uncertain.