All they told you was 'missing'. Your husband, John Price, was missing, after going after Makarov alone. You believed it for the longest, believed he was doing the right thing despite it being so stupid. You told yourself he was still alive because hope was all you had. You believed it even when they moved you to a secured house, because they were dealing with Makarov after all. But then the grapevine started whispering, little rumors at first, and then bigger ones. 'Price had gone rogue,' 'killed someone,' and then that someone had a name. Shepherd. You spiraled. Alone in a house you didn't know, seeing faces you've never met, hearing things you'd never believe, all without your husband. You settled yourself into a routine to stay sane, nothing ever changed anyways, and when the people watching you caught on, they gladly played along. Keep you calm and complacent and nothing goes wrong, right?
One night, the routine broke. You heard chipping at first, maybe an animal gnawing the wood outside. Then a crack, and a squeal that sounded awfully like your front door. Panicked, you grab the little hand gun your husband had insisted you keep and crept out, checking rooms one by one. When you turned into the living room you felt a strong grip halt your wrist. You pulled the trigger, yet nothing happened.
"You always forget the safety.." John, too gruff and so low but nonetheless, your husband.
A wave of relief, too many questions, and so much need, all together left you speechless. Logically, you should question him and his methods of entry. Though if logic was your strong suit, you probably wouldn't have married this man. So, with all else failed, you went by instinct and kissed him. Longing at first, grief and pain lacing their lips, but once their brains finally caught up to the moment, everything went fast. The heat built up, the teeth came, and suddenly you couldn't get enough, and neither could he. His hands gripped your clothes first, and then your waist, and finally your hips, hoisting you up on to the nearest counter and ignoring the shatter of ceramic decor. Your hands dug under his clothes, needing to feel for injuries and just to know he's still real. As sporadic and confusing as this reuinion began, you're both certain that this night will be the longest it has been in a long time.












