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John Price stood by the reinforced door, practically swallowing the limited space. He had his heavy tactical jacket unzipped just a fraction, the scent of tobacco, rain, and sweat clinging to him like a second skin. His blue eyes, usually sharp enough to cut glass, always aware of everything around him, tracked you as you dropped your rucksack onto the dusty floor. 

“Cosy,” you remarked, wiping a layer of grime off the back of a plastic chair. “I see the Royal Army really spared no expense on the honeymoon suite. 

Price let out a low huff— the closest you’d get to a laugh while knee-deep in the red zone, halfway through a deep-cover mission. He pulled his watch cap down tighter over his ears. “You’re lucky it’s got a roof, love. Last time I was in this sector, I slept in a ditch with a wet poncho.”

“And you’ve been lovely ever since,” you shot back mindlessly, unbuttoning your own heavy coat to check the seals on your sidearm. You didn’t look up, but you could feel his gaze on you, always. Heavy, observant, laced with the respect he only reserved for operatives who were genuine survivalists out in the field. Sometimes you wondered if he only ever liked you because you didn’t know how to complain. “Don’t worry, Captain. If you get cold, I’ll let you have the chair.”

Price took a slow step forward, floorboards groaning a little beneath his boots. He leaned against the low ceiling beam, looking down at you with that maddeningly calm, knowing smirk hidden in his stupid beard.

“Is that right?” his voice dropped an octave, a rough purr that vibrated right through the thick, stale air of the room. “Generous of you. But I outrank you, Sergeant. Which means if anyone’s taking the luxury seating, it’s me.”

“Ah, pulling rank already? We’ve only been locked in a basement for, what, ten minutes?” you finally looked up, meeting his eyes with a challenging tilt of your chin. “I thought you liked a capable partner, John.”

“I do,” Price murmured, holding your gaze, his own darkening a little. Though you weren’t sure, as exhaustion had played with your brain way too many times before and told you that on quiet nights like this, Price was thinking exactly the same things as you were. “Which is why I’m letting you figure out how we’re both going to fit on a mattress meant for a single schoolboy without one of us falling off.”

Ah. Sure.

The unspoken rule between the two of you had always been distance. It wasn’t born out of dislike— quite the opposite, actually. In your line of work, professional distance was a life jacket. The cold, the bone-deep exhaustion, the proximity of holding the line with someone could easily play tricks with your head, make you see things that weren’t necessarily there, have you holding onto words like the world outside of that specific perimeter had lost all its meaning. 

Price was a man who carried the weight of too many ghosts, and you were a woman who valued her autonomy too much to let a commander see the softer edges of your armor. But there was a gravity between you, undeniable in its nature, a pull that both of you spent a massive, unnecessary amount of energy pretending didn’t exist. 

You took great interest in the smaller details of the room whilst your brain scrambled to find a way to get you out of the situation, before setting your eyes on him.

“A schoolboy’s mattress,” you repeated, voice a dry defense mechanism against the sudden tightness of your chest. “Right. Well. Good thing I practiced my posture in training.”

The banter was a shield, of course, but as the clock ticked past midnight, the cold began to strip it away. The heating unit in the corner, which you deemed hopeless within twenty minutes of settling in, gave one pathetic hiss before dying completely, leaving the air so frigid your breath bloomed in fragile, ghostly clouds between you. The Siberian winder certainly didn’t care about the military rank Price was always so eager to pull with you; if it could seep through the concrete this much, it could easily bypass your skin to settle deep into your bones until shivers wracked your shoulders.

Price noticed. Why were you even surprised, he noticed everything.

“Drop the boots and the rig,” he commanded quietly. It wasn’t his ‘Captain’ voice that you were used to— it was lower, thicker, roughened by the drop in temperature and something else he was trying hard to suppress. “We’re losing heat. We freeze up, we’re useless tomorrow.”

You didn’t have it in you to argue this once. The bravado was gone, replaced by the instinct to just survive which was quickly blurring into something far more dangerous in your book. You stripped off your tactical vest and boots, leaving you in your thick thermal layers. When you climbed onto the narrow cot, pressed flat against the damp concrete wall to leave him room, you realized just how impossible this was going to be.

The bed groaned under his weight as Price laid down beside you, facing away at first, trying to preserve a polite boundary. But you both knew it was useless. The cold was a physical blade, cutting through the thin fabric of your thermals, the skin beneath, your bones. You shivered again, hard enough that the rusted springs gave a little.

With a heavy sigh that sounded a lot like surrender, Price turned around. 

Thank God you were facing away from him because if you had to face him in the dark now, you would probably say something stupid.

“Come here,” he muttered into the dark. 

Before you could even try to fire back a witty retort, his arm reached out, hooking around your waist and pulling you backward against his chest. The impact took your breath away. He was a literal furnace— visceral, solid, and utterly massive. Your back pressed flush against his torso, thighs nesting into his, head tucked just beneath his chin. 

The dynamic shifted in an instant, you could feel it. You were no longer just two highly capable soldiers sharing a safehouse to lay low for the night. You felt skin and bone, heartbeat and heat, terrifyingly, deliciously close. 

Price’s breath hitched as your heat met his. Through the layers of clothing, you cold feel the hard expanse of his chest rising and falling against your shoulder blades, his heart thumping a steady rhythm that almost matched the sudden racing of your own. His beard brushed the crown of your head, the scent of him enveloping your entire being completely. He was rigid, every muscle in his body coiled tight as a spring, as if he were actively fighting the urge for something. To pull you closer, your treacherous mind whispered into you. To feel your body against his, closer, warmer, perhaps even wetter.

He’s affected by this, you realized, a sudden thrill of heat shooting through your veins that had absolutely nothing to do with the weather. The great John Price isn’t as untouchable as he lets on.

“Still cold?” he murmured, his voice rumbling directly into your spine, making its way down in between your legs, to contribute to the growing anticipation there.

You remained entirely frozen, terrified to your bones that even a single, misplaced shift of your weight would shatter the fragile illusion of military necessity. But the cold was unrelenting, forcing you to melt backward, pressing your spine firmer against the solid wall of his chest.

“I’ll survive, Captain,” you managed, voice nothing above a hushed thread in the dark. “Though I think you forgot to mention in your briefing that field-expedient thermal sharing involved being spooned by a human bear.”

Price let out a sound— not a huff this time, but a vibration that rippled right through your shoulder blades, making your muscles go taut. His arm, still wrapped around your waist, tightened just a little bit, pulling you a microscopic inch closer until there wasn’t a single millimeter of air left between his front and your back.

“It’s called survival, Sergeant,” he murmured, breath hot against the shell of your ear. You shushed your mind before it could tell you that he was doing it deliberately. “If you’ve got complaints, you can file ‘em with Hereford when we get back. Till then, shut up and take my heat.”

“Always so textbook,” you whispered, tilting your head back just slightly. The crown of your head rubbed against his jaw, the rough stubble of his beard catching on your hair. “And here I thought you were breaking character just to be nice to me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, love.” the term of endearment slipped out a little too easily, too breathily, with a weight that didn’t necessarily belong on a mission roster. Price’s fingers twitched where they rested against your stomach. His hand flattened there then, palm heavy and searingly hot through the synthetic fabric. He was pinning your hips directly against the apex of his thighs, and you didn’t have a single intention of complaining. 

“Besides,” Price added whilst shifting his weight, large thigh sliding between yours a bit. “If I were breaking character, you wouldn’t be doing this much talking.”

A treacherous thrill coiled tight in your lower stomach. The undercurrent of the remark he threw so casually wasn’t a blunt admission, no, that wasn’t in Price’s nature, but it was there— thick, sticky with a promise that made the back of your throat go dry.

“Is that a threat, Captain?” you whispered, your own voice taking on a slight edge. You tilted your hips back just a fraction into his heat, testing the boundary, testing him. “Last I checked, I’ve never had an issue keeping up with your pace. In or out of the field.”

You heard a jagged intake of air that ruffled the hairs at the nape of your neck, then, you felt the immediate consequence of your movement— hardening of a certain something against your lower back, thick and unmistakable even through the heavy layers of clothing. He was fighting a losing battle against his own restraint, and you weren’t exactly making it easier for him.

“Careful now,” the warning rumbled right into your skin. His hand on your stomach moved, palm spreading wide, charting the curve of your hip with an agonizingly slow pressure. “You’re playing a high-stakes game in a very small room, love.”

“But you’re the one who told me to take your heat,” you breathed, the dizzying heat washing over you entirely eradicating the chill that a few minutes ago was paralyzing you. “I’m just… following orders. Finding out how much you’re willing to give.”

“Wanna talk orders?” his voice was a rough purr now, lips brushing your earlobe as he spoke, sending an electric ache straight down between your thighs. His fingers dug a little deeper into your hip, pulling your backside flush against the rigid line of his groin. “If I give you an order right now, Sergeant, I’d have to make sure you take every single piece of it.”

The weight of his tone made your knees weaken, even lying down. It was a masterclass in control, a tether keeping the monster on a leash, but the leash was fraying way too fast. Every slow rise and fall of his chest rubbed torturously against you. 

“Then why don’t you?” you challenged softly, heart hammering against your ribs. “Unless the Captain is all talk tonight.”

Price didn’t answer that. The time for words, apparently, was over.

His hand moved from your hip with urgency, large fingers gripping the waistband of your thermal trousers before hauling them down along with your underwear in one heavy sweep, exposing your bare skin to the biting chill of the room. That didn’t last long, though, as his massive, burning body crowded right back against you. You heard the harsh, metallic slide of his own zipper, the rustle of heavy fabric, then the staggering reality of his bare length pressing directly against the slick, aching heat between your thighs.

He was massive. 

You let out a soft gasp into the dark, hands reaching back to blindly grip at the fabric of his shirt for leverage as he grabbed a hold of your leg, lifting it up and hooking it over his, opening you right up for easy access as his fingers found their way over to your aching clit.

“All talk?” Price growled into the nape of your neck, voice stripped of all the restraint it had before. It was deep, feral, and deeply, deeply hungry. “Let’s see how well you keep up now, hm?”

With a tilt of his hips, and a helping hand, Price managed to drive himself forward a bit, blunt tip catching onto your desperate entrance.

He didn’t ease into you, not that you expected him to. He sank straight into your tight, drenched heat in one long push, filling you to the absolute brim. The light pain of his thick length stretching you open took the breath out of your lungs, having your eyes snapping open in the dark, spine arching off his back as pleasure crashed over your brain. A loud, high-pitched cry built in the back of your throat, threatened to tear past your lips and echo straight up through the floor to the street above.

Before the sound could even escape, though, Price’s large hand slammed over your mouth. 

His palm was warm, smelling of one of his cigars, effectively smothering your voice into a muffled, breathless whimper against his skin.

“Shh, quiet, baby,” Price hissed against your ear, holding you completely still for one torturous second, letting your desperate body stretch and adjust to the fullness of him. “One sound out of you, and we’re compromised. You stay quiet for me, okay pretty girl? You hear me?”

You could only nod frantically against his palm. The danger of the mission outside was entirely eclipsed by the overwhelming danger and embarrassment of the orgasm forcing its way to the surface, before he even had a chance to move properly. 

Price let out an approving grunt. “Good girl.”

Then, he began to move.

Because of the cramped, narrow spooning position, every single thrust had to be so, so deep and agonizingly slow. He pulled back until he was almost entirely out, letting the freezing air hit the slick skin of your cunt, before driving all the way back in, bottoming out against you with a wet thud each time. His thick hips rolled against your backside, weight crushing you into the wall and the hard mattress with every relentless stroke of his. 

You writhed against him, muffled whimpers trapped behind his hand as he tore through all of your defenses. The pleasure was too sharp, too much. Every time he hit your sweet spot, your legs twitched helplessly, begging for a faster pace, but Price maintained a commanding rhythm of his own. He was using his size to dominate the space, thick thighs anchoring yours, chest pinning your shoulders flat when he moved a bit further to keep you under him.

“Look at you,” Price whispered roughly, lips dragging along your jawline. “Taking all of it. So quiet. Built perfectly for this, aren’t you? My perfect little soldier.”

The dirty praises sent an entirely new wave of heat straight to your core. You clamped your thighs tighter around his leg, tilting your pelvis back to meet his deep thrusts, desperately chasing the peak that had been building between your legs a while.

Price felt the shift in your body, the tight squeeze of your wet walls around his girth. He let out a low groan, hand gripping your jaw just a little tighter. “Yeah, just like that,” he muttered, breaths coming in short pants now as his own control began to fray at the edges. “Take it all from your captain, baby, take all of me.”

You felt Price’s restraint snapping cleanly in two when he stopped pulling back. He simply drove into you over and over, frantic thrusts that slammed his hips flush against yours with a wet echo, and at that point, his tight hand around your jaw wasn’t doing much to muffle you. The rusted springs of the cot creaked beneath, but neither of you cared about the noise anymore— not when he was so big and unforgiving, not when you were so tight and soft beneath his palms. 

“I’m gonna ruin you,” Price growled, voice barely feeling human as his teeth grazed your shoulder. “Gonna fill you up. Fucking breed you. Just hold on, love, hold on for me.”

Your walls clamped helplessly around him, and the orgasm actually felt like a physical blow against your pussy. You arched your spine, eyes rolling back in the dark as a choked, muffled scream was smothered entirely into his palm. Your walls clamping tight around his rigid length as you came around him pushed Price right over the precipice. 

He let out a guttural moan against your neck, body locking up when he drove himself into you one final time, burying his length as deep as it could possibly go, and then, he unleashed.

You felt the pulsing before the warmth flooded your tight space, filling you to the absolute brim. He poured into you in deep waves, the volume of his seed pooling deep within  your core until it slickly escaped the seal of your skin to drip onto the mattress beneath you. Price remained buried deep, chest heaving against your back, heart hammering on top of you like a war drum as he slowly emptied himself into you. 

For a long, beautiful minute, the only sound was the desperate panting of two people trying to catch their breaths. 

You felt him soften slightly, though he stayed put, preserving the connection there for a hot minute before carefully withdrawing his large hand from your mouth, fingers trailing down your jaw, over your chin, before resting against the pulse point on your neck. 

He pressed a soft kiss to the damp skin beneath your ear, breath still hot and shallow.

“Love,” he whispered into the dark, shifting his weight to ensure he wasn’t crushing you. “You alright? Did I hurt you?”

“I just might have to start disobeying orders more often, Captain,” you murmured with his soft chuckle rumbling against your back, as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. 

“Smart mouth,” Price whispered affectionately, thumb gently stroking the pulse point on your throat before he retreated a bit to pull the blankets back up over the two of you. 

It started off with looks - longer than usual. Longing.

In the common room, passing each other in the halls, during conversations.

He'd tease you from time to time, just to see your face break out in a flush of colour.

"Y'know what, (Y/N)?" he'd say, leaning in across the cafeteria table. "You have beautiful eyes."

If you managed to bypass your own embarrassment and shoot a compliment back, albeit sarcastic-- "Not as mysterious as yours, Captain,"-- he'd fall for you harder.

Btw, calling him "Captain," or "Sir," makes all the blood in his body rush straight to his cock.

Has jacked off to his power fantasies before now.

Man's a top, it's just in his nature to want authority over everyone else (you).

After that, he started being more physical with you.

He decided to teach you how to use a gun - "For your own safety," of course.

It was all (mostly) a ploy to have a plausible excuse to be pressed up behind you, arms around yours, head resting on your shoulder as he praised you for your aim.

And to hear you yelp, to feel you graze just the right parts of him whenever you recoiled after firing, into his chest and...elsewhere.

Sent him absolutely over the edge - used it as fuel for his increasingly frequent self-love sessions.

Though, he did actually want you to be able to protect yourself when it came down to it.

But, he always sees himself as your protector; your man on whom you can depend for anything.

One evening, disinfecting a wound on his abdomen as he sat on the edge of one of the operating tables, you and Price got to talking.

"Pretty nasty cut here, Captain," you said, wiping an antiseptic cotton pad across Price's wound.

He winced, though kept the light smile on his face.

"Ah well, all worth it to come and see you,"

You shot him a look of sarcasm, though smiled, finding the sincerity in his words.

"I hope you're not getting injured just for me!"

Your statement was jestful, but the sentiment was genuine.

Price's eyes squinted in a smile.

"What if I was?" he said, his hands sliding to his knees, ignoring the pulsing in his wound and coming eye level with you as you rose.

You were taken aback, though at least tried to look like you'd regained your composure.

You scoffed, discarding the bloodied cotton into a nearby bin.

"Ah yes, a big, strong man like you can't possibly be killed by a mere bullet just to come and see the medic."

Price felt something in him clench, tighten.

He gave a huff of a laugh.

"You'd be surprised the things a man'll do to see a pretty woman."

Your back was to Price, gathering his shirt and hat. You faltered, unsure as to whether you'd heard him correctly.

You shook your head, choosing to humour him. To not take him seriously.

Big mistake.

Price took your: "You know, you could always just come and see me without getting hurt," as gospel.

That night, he imagined you, pleased to see him (in more ways than one), begging to take him.

He could hear your voice chanting his name, moaning and panting as he had you bent over his desk, slamming into you.

After that, he took you up on your offer, visiting you on evenings he knew you weren't busy, where your greatest priority would be paperwork.

You'd talk, get to know each other more and more, you discovering his penchant for World War literature, and he of your interest in video games.

He often compared his tastes to yours, ruminating on how much he could teach you if you'd let him.

You were younger than him by a good margin, yet already so intelligent, so...independent.

Price wanted to change that.

He wanted you to depend on him, and only him, for everything.

One evening, he watched you at the bar with the rest of the Task Force.

Soap seemed rather pleased to see you, sidling up beside you and holding you by your waist, pulling you into his chest.

It all appeared as playful teasing - as many of the Task Force members often subjected you to - but to Price, it spelled a bigger picture.

That night, after you'd returned to Base, Price took his chance.

He knew you hadn't been drinking, so you were of sound mind.

He knew he had to act now.

"Y'know," he said, watching you fumble with your keycard, trying to re-enter the medical wing. "Pretty little thing like you shouldn't be alone on nights like these."

He took a drag of a cigar you'd just noticed he had: him always being equipped with one made you blind to when he was smoking so close to you.

"What do you mean?" you asked, looking up at him briefly before managing to swipe the right side of your card.

You entered the building, and held the door open for Price. He followed behind.

"Cold. Lonely." His voice was low, vibrating at such a frequency that had you feeling hot. You wondered how he could possibly have this effect on you.

"Who says I'm lonely?" you said, flashing him a smile. You continued walking to your sleeping quarters. Price knew; he'd memorised the layout of the medical wing. Your route.

"I have you."

You meant it more as a compliment to his character rather than an invitation. But Price saw it how he wanted to.

"Yeah," his voice was deeper now, somehow. Lower, as if trying to reach beneath your skirt. "You do."

Price was literally living the dream after that.

No, literally: he had you bent over the edge of your bed, ploughing into you, with you practically crying into the covers beneath him.

His grip on your hips was harsh, months of pent-up sexual frustration being pumped into you.

And that wasn't the only thing Price was planning on pumping into you.

He came to realise, through your months of friendship, that he loved you in a way he hadn't felt about anyone in a long time.

He felt...protective of you - of your innocence.

Despite the horrific injuries you'd had to deal with in your line of work, you maintained your somewhat carefree demeanour.

That, and Price knew you'd never taken anyone before.

Your years of studying, training and working wouldn't allow for it; both you and Price knew that.

And here he was, stretching you out on his thick cock, hitting crevices you'd never even felt before.

You were a doctor - a medic - you knew how sex worked.

And you knew, from your years of textbook study, that you were close. And that Price likely was, too.

"C-Captain- cu-- ah!" Price gripped your chin, forcing you to look back at him.

"That's it," he said, panting, sweating, twitching. "Say my name again."

"P-Price-"

Price landed a slap on your backside, harsh enough to send a jolt of electricity through you.

"Try again, Princess."

He felt you clench around him at the name. His lip twitched up in a smirk.

"Captain..." you breathed out. You knew what you wanted to say - needed to say.

"Don't cum inside me," you pleaded, eyes wide and hazy. "Please."

You didn't have birth control to-hand, and you'd heard too many miracle stories about women still getting pregnant regardless of the aid of a pill regardless to risk it.

Price gave no acknowledgement of your worry, instead continuing to slam into you.

He was relentless, forcing you to your end quicker than you could register it.

You cried out, voice obscured by the covers, as your orgasm tore through you, gripping the sheets as Price was gripping your hips.

He continued to pump into you, prolonging your orgasm, keeping the mist settling over your mind from dissipating. Keeping your judgement from telling him to pull out.

It didn't occur to you until it was too late.

Price groaned, guttural and primal, and something hot and thick filled you.

Price's grip slid up to your waist, one hand settling on the small of your back and the other settling on your stomach, rubbing it.

Both panting and coming down from your high, your mind cleared.

First came the shame - the crushing reality that you'd just had sex with your superior, the man who'd near enough employed you - then, the realisation of a bigger issue.

"You...you didn't pull out..." Your voice was soft, throat dry with incessant panting and moaning.

Between breaths, Price uttered: "Don't worry, Princess. Got the pill."

Relief washed over you, then logic. Of course, why on earth would your superior risk you getting pregnant? Then again, why would he have contraceptives to-hand? This was a military base.

Little did you know.

Price did end up giving you a pill soon afterwards. A placebo, nothing more. Not that you knew that.

You and Price went on with your...relationship?...after your encounter.

You were confused, to say the least; unsure of how to approach Captain Price now that you'd grown to know him so intimately.

Yet he almost acted as if you hadn't; as if the whole thing were nothing more than a dream.

Almost.

The longing gazes and half-smiles let you know that he was still very much aware of all that you'd done together, though instead of the room thickening with tension whenever he was around, you felt shame. Ashamed.

You knew you couldn't undo what had been done, but you could go on and pretend it never happened - the only way you could think to put it behind you.

In the meantime, Price seemed so occupied these days, having important meetings with people you didn't even know or care to ask about, so he had little opportunity to remind you of your experience with him.

Though, he reminded himself of it every day - the fact that he'd been your first, the first (and only) to claim you.

The thought crossed his mind whenever he was fortunate enough to see you in the hallways, whenever he came to you with a scuff or a scrape.

A month passed. And that's where it all ended for you.

The sickness began, your stomach turning more mornings than not, leaving you breathless and fatigued before the day even began.

Your energy seemed to drain quicker, too, leaving you a ghoul of yourself on some days.

The other 141 members seemed to take note, asking you if you were okay, if you were eating enough.

All except Price.

The way he looked at you now - when word of your health's sudden downturn spread - was masked, as if he knew something. Like he knew whatever forbidden knowledge he possessed hid in his eyes, which he kept cold and unreadable.

Eventually, you decided to get tested for...well, everything. You got blood tests, tracked your symptoms, tried to make sense of this sudden onset of sickness.

You considered it was something you'd been eating, but you ate more or less the same meals before the sickness began.

You considered every possibility - blood disorder, stomach bug, liver issues - all except that which you hadn't daned the most obvious.

And when your test results returned, you felt your world shatter.

On your report, in a box in a long table, was a sign. The only confirmation of any illness on that entire report.

Pregnant: Positive.

Your worst fear had been confirmed. And now, you had to confirm it to Price.

Skittering through the hall, you found his office.

Surprisingly, there were no voices on the other end now, usually emanating from this room, muffled and secretive. 'Associates of Price' was the only identification you gave them.

You knocked, was told to enter. You obeyed.

Entering the room, you noticed that Price wasn't smoking his signature cigar, the air of the room clear, unobstructed by smoke.

Price had his legs resting on the edge of his desk, a perfect image of laxity while you, an homage to stress.

Your breath shuttered, and you rubbed one hand with the other. Price remained motionless, as if poised for your answer. Poised for attack.

You couldn't think straight, instead saying the first thing that came into your mind.

"You're not smoking, Captain." You tried to smile, but the attempt was diluted by your fear. Price only gave a knowing smile.

"Mmh. Wouldn't be good for the baby, would it?" The casualty with which he said it almost disguised the statement itself. You smiled, looking down at your hands, then your gaze snapped up to meet his.

His smile broadened, as if he were hearing the news of your pregnancy for the first time.

He took his legs off the desk and stood, his figure's shadow almost reaching you.

"You've...read my report, then?" you tried, cautiously. You didn't want to entertain the hundred other possibilities you were considering.

"No." Price's answer was immediate, firm. He walked around his desk, hands behind his back, and stopped before you.

"Then...how could you possibly..."

The realisation had been there, nestled between your other speculations like a pea between mattresses, pricking you, making you uncomfortable.

Price brought a hand to the side of your face, holding it.

His large hands would have, at any other time, brought you great comfort. But now...

You took a step back, one hand over where your child was, the other ready to defend you.

Only now did Price's smile falter. His gaze became colder, serious.

"Now, now, (Y/N), this isn't all doom and gloo-"

"You gave me a fake pill, didn't you!" It wasn't a question, rather an accusation.

Price sighed, rubbing his beard.

You stepped back, inching towards the door.

"You- You knocked me up on purpose!"

"Now don't go throwing 'round accusations like that-"

"Why not? It's true!"

Price lunged at you, covering your mouth with his hand. With the other he pressed a button on the wall - a big red one that looked like it should never be pressed.

Two soldiers came in - makeshift security guards.

Price handed you to them.

"Put her in isolation; she'll be shipped back tomorrow."

And now, in your cell, rocking back and forth, you cried.

You truly believed this to just be a nightmare - nothing more.

And it only worsened when Price visited you.

He pulled up a chair, sitting before you in your cell.

He leaned forward on his thighs as he had done that evening on the operating table.

"It's for your own good-"

"Oh, fuck off."

You were in no mood to barter, to absolve him of his crimes.

Price's brow twitched, yet he remained composed.

"I'm trying to be reasonable here, (Y/N)."

You scoffed. "You're not reasonable. You act on impulse, on flights of fancy. And this is just another byproduct of that."

Price looked somewhat offended.

"You think this is a flight of fancy?" he said. "You think you are just a flight of fancy?"

He pulled his chair closer to your cell, and leaned in.

"I have put more thought and consideration into you than I have done any other person, any other operation-"

"And look where that's gotten us."

"(Y/N), let me speak-"

"Or what?" you challenged. You came up the the glass of the cell, close enough that your breath fogged against it.

"Or what? You're gonna kill me?"

Price shot you a look that made the doubt flicker in your mind - that he actually would.

Price sighed, leaned back in his seat, and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I'm doing this to keep you safe."

Despite the overwhelming urge to interrupt him, to scream bloody murder at him, you let him talk. For now.

Seeing you were finally letting him explain himself, Price continued, his features softening.

"The military's no place for a girl like you, (Y/N)."

"I'm a woman. Not some complacent little schoolgirl fawning over a teacher-"

"Then what would you call how you've been actin' around me, hm?"

A smug look crossed his face. You sought to correct that.

"What do you mean? You pursued me!"

"Then how do you account for all our time together?"

You racked your brain for what he could have possibly been talking about. The only times you'd spent time with him voluntarily felt - mostly - purely platonic. To you, at least.

"Those touches," he said, nigh whispered, his voice sibilant. "Those looks. Those conversations--"

"You mean me doing my job?"

"Oh, come now, don't act like you don't know what I'm talkin' 'bout."

"Captain-"

"Call me John."

You took a deep breath, trying to compose both yourself and your response.

"John, listen, I don't know what I've done to you, but whatever it is, surely I didn't warrant...this."

"You--" John looked at you as if you'd shot him. "You think this is condemnation?"

You felt confusion bubble in your mind, dyeing your thoughts with the colour of uncertainty.

"You don't?"

John sighed deeply, rubbed his temple.

"This," he began, "is to protect you."

"From what?"

"Your job."

You threw your hands up in the air, feeling as if you'd gotten nowhere - that your questions still hadn't been answered.

"I love my job, John! I love taking care of people, I love the 141, I love-"

"Me?"

Your breath caught in your throat. The look in John's eye was serious as death.

You knew what he wanted to hear, but you couldn't believe that he mean it - that he loved you. After all, you didn't love him.

"I just don't see what you're trying to protect me from, John." You skirted around his question, folding your arms across your chest.

John acknowledged your answer by not acknowledging it at all.

"You know the risks of my line of work - of our duty,"

He stared dead into your eyes and you couldn't look away.

"And I can't - won't - let you be a victim of it."

"A victim?" Your voice was airy, inflated with disbelief.

"I chose this profession, I have bled for it-"

"Which is exactly my point! I don't want you getting hurt anymore-"

"Why do you care?-"

"Because I love you!"

Price's voice thundered, making your very bones quiver.

The silence that followed was deafening.

You stepped back, more stumbled, the weight of Price's statement shooting past you like a javelin. Just missing you.

Too much ran through your mind after that, making you nigh-unresponsive to John.

Everything that occurred afterwards became a cesspool of moments and emotions, barely strung together by a thread of logic.

A caretaker came in shortly after, telling you, in a voice that was none of which you knew, yet possessing a sentiment you recognised immediately as Price's plan:

"We'll be excusing you from your medical obligations until a year after your child's birth, after which you'll be free to return to work--"

Even through the buzzing of your own anxiety, a flicker of hope lit within you.

"--given that your superior authorises your return."

Aaand it was snuffed out.

Your heart sank, nerves frying, mind going blank.

So this was his scheme, you thought.

24 hours later, an aircraft descended from the heavens to pluck you from reality. And Price was there, over your shoulder, providing little comfort.

He had a hand on your shoulder, rubbing it, squeezing it.

His breath was hot on your neck, unfazed by the cold breeze ushered your way by the blades of the helicopter.

"I'll be with you soon," he told you, uttering it into your ear. Even the cotton-eared effect of the crushing wind and metal couldn't mask his words, his voice.

It sent shivers down your spine. Unsettled you.

Once released from the grip and watchful eye of the Captain, you sprung into action, pleading with the attendee to get help, to do something - that Price was not the valiant hero everyone thought him to be--

And the attendee did nothing.

In fact, they seemed to be on his side, already knowledgeable of Price's misdeeds and not caring for how they affected his victims.

Though, they did admit, he'd never done anything like this before.

"Seems like you're special," they said, leaning back into their seat.

Mortified, and truly alone, you sank back, stomach heavy with the weight of your reality and the life growing inside you.

You were taken home after that, but you knew it was not truly your home.

Price had been here, one way or another; you could tell by how the house no longer felt like you - smelled like you.

And when you checked the crevices and corners, you knew why.

Cameras. Few and far between, but obvious if you knew where to look.

Either Price didn't know you as well as he thought, or he knew you too well; knew that you'd find the cameras, a reminder of your binding to him.

Now and forever. With a man you didn't think capable of such cruelty, nor such "love".

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