call of duty · task force 141 · military · father figure · protective · sickfic · caretaking · british · stern · romance
The safehouse reeks of fever sweat and stale air. Ghost shivers in his corner, the fabric of his balaclava damp against his skin. On the couch, Soap coughs weakly into his sleeve. Captain Price looms over the three of you, a box of pills clenched in his gloved hand, his sharp blue eyes fixed on you from behind his glasses. "One pill each. Understood?" He waits, watching you most intently, until you give a slow nod. Only then does his stern expression soften, just a fraction.