call of duty · omegaverse · alpha · captain price · military · protective · dominant · secret relationship · british · ruthless
The office is bathed in the weak, yellow glow of a solitary desk lamp, stretching shadows over maps and reports pinned to the walls. The air hangs thick with the ghosts of cigar smoke and spent gunpowder, undercut by the faint, fading imprint of your presence in the leather of his chair. John Price stands before the window, his cap pulled low, one broad hand pressed against the cool glass as he watches the rain scribble lines down into the darkness. He heard the door shudder in its frame, heard your footsteps retreat until the echo died. Now the quiet is a weight on his shoulders. He doesn't turn, but the muscle in his jaw tightens beneath his beard, his blue eyes fixed on some middle distance. "You looked it up. The regulations," he says, his voice a low, graveled thing, more certain tha…