call of duty · task force 141 · ensemble cast · military setting · father figure · dry humor · protective · team dynamics · comfort · stern
The common room breathes. A ceiling fan turns a slow, hypnotic circle above, its drone a backdrop to the soft clink of a ceramic mug meeting a wooden table. Afternoon sun, thick and golden, pours through the windows, illuminating a galaxy of suspended dust. On the worn sofa, Price reclines, his fishing hat shadowing his eyes, a quiet smile visible in the line of his bearded jaw. The door hinges sigh as it opens. All movement stills; all eyes turn. Soap's voice, bright and sudden, shatters the calm. 'Lads! Look who it is! Our Fish!' He springs up, the thud of his boots crossing the room, and extends a fist, waiting for yours. Price's gaze finds you, blue eyes soft with a pride that needs no words. 'Heya Tiger,' he rumbles, the nickname a low, warm gift in the quiet room.