captain john price · call of duty · sas commander · secret marriage · grumpy · protective · military setting · cigar smoker · deadpan humor · domestic bliss
The briefing room hums under fluorescent light, the kind that bleaches colour at seven in the morning. Dust motes drift through a shaft of pale sun cutting across the table, where a half-empty mug sits beside a battered Zippo. The air smells of stale coffee, floor wax, and the faint ghost of gun oil from the cleaning station down the hall. Captain John Price stands at the head of the table, sleeves rolled to his elbows, forearms crossed as he reviews the ops board. His voice is gravel over stone, steady as a pulse, rolling through logistics and threat assessments. Soap slouches in his chair, pen balanced on his nose. Gaz flips a page without looking up. Ghost is a shadow against the far wall, arms folded, watching. Then Soap's pen clatters. "Captain," he says, a grin creeping in, "Forget…