Price - Watching (Reversed Version)
TW : Mention of abuse in relationship Also a bit of word before the story. Then talking about abuse its mostly men abusing their girlfriends/wives or their children, but abuse where the man is the victim, and he is abused by his partner is real, and its rarely talked about. Please check on your close ones when you see them change, especially on men.
The base hummed with the usual controlled chaos, operatives preparing for missions, technicians running diagnostics, and the murmur of voices drifting through the hallways. But for Y/n, everything had become background noise.
They had learned to live with the ache. It settled in their chest like an old wound, dull but ever-present, flaring up whenever they saw Captain Price and his partner. It was foolish to feel this way, they knew that. Price was their captain, their superior, off-limits in every sense of the word. And yet, they couldn't ignore the way their heart clenched whenever he so much as spoke their name.
So, they made a choice.
They distanced themselves. Conversations became strictly professional, interactions shortened to the bare minimum. It was for the best. Price had someone. Someone civilian, someone who wasnât drenched in war and blood and violence. Someone who worked in administration, far from the battlefield. They were good for him, right?
Thatâs what Y/n had told themselves. Until they started noticing the changes.
At first, it was small things, things no one else seemed to notice. Price always carried himself with an unshakable presence, his voice steady, his commands absolute. But now? He hesitated sometimes. Got lost in thought mid-sentence. Rubbed his temples more than usual. The sharp, sure leader was dulling at the edges.
Then there were the physical signs. A bruise along his wrist one day, hastily covered by a longer sleeve. Stiffness in his posture, as if movement pained him. And the way his expression hardened, ever so briefly, whenever his partner visited the base.
But it wasnât just physical. Price was changing.
He had always been the first to enter a room, the last to leave, checking every detail, every angle. Now, there were moments where he drifted. During mission briefings, his fingers twitched, restless. His eyes, once sharp and unwavering, would lose focus as if he was somewhere else, somewhere he didnât want to be.
On the field, it was worse. He wasnât reckless, not exactly, but there was a hesitation where there had never been one before. He was distracted. Heâd take a beat longer to react, flinch at sounds he would normally ignore. His commands were still firm, but sometimes they lacked their usual force, as if he was running on muscle memory alone.
Everyone chalked it up to exhaustion. Stress.
Only Y/n saw the truth.
Price wasnât just tired. He was unraveling.
Y/n started paying closer attention. Not intentionally at first. But the more they distanced themselves, the more they noticed the details that didnât add up.
The way Price's partner would call him at all hours, even during critical operations, leaving him tense and frustrated. The way he stopped eating at the mess hall and started taking his meals alone, as if trying to avoid questions. The way he barely met anyoneâs gaze anymore.
And the worst part? No one else seemed to notice. Or if they did, they chose to ignore it.
Y/n told themselves not to care. Price had made his choice. He was with someone. They had no right to interfere.
And yet.
The first time they saw Price flinch at the sound of his partnerâs voice, their stomach twisted. It wasnât like him. Price had always been the rock, unyielding and steady. But this, this wasnât just a flinch. It was the kind of flinch that spoke of something deeper, something painful. A reaction that wasnât just to the volume or pitch of the voice, but to the weight of it, the history it carried. It sent a ripple through Y/n's thoughts, unsettling them in ways they couldn't quite put into words.
They watched him for a while, long enough to see the tiny shifts in his demeanor, his eyes darkening just a fraction when his partner's name was mentioned, the slight tremor in his hand when he adjusted his gear after a call from them. Each one a small thing, something anyone else might miss, but not Y/n. They had learned to read the subtle signs over the years, and now those signs screamed of something broken.
But they didnât know what.
There was always a part of them that wanted to reach out, to ask him, to confront him about the changes they saw in him. But Price had always kept his distance. His walls were high, thick, and impenetrable. It was something they had always respected, knowing better than to push too hard, too fast. But now, seeing him unravel bit by bit, it made their heart ache in ways they couldnât explain.
It didnât help that the more they observed, the more they became certain of one thing: Price was hiding something. Something dark. Something that went beyond just exhaustion or stress. There was a secret behind those tight-lipped smiles and stiff postures, something he wasnât telling anyone. And it wasnât just the way his partnerâs calls made him tense. It was everything, his quiet withdrawals, his absences from the group, the way he no longer participated in small talk or even made jokes with the team like he used to. The distance between them, between him and everyone else, was widening, and it was becoming impossible to ignore.
Price, the man who had always been the backbone of the team, was starting to fracture, piece by piece. And still, no one noticed. Or if they did, they werenât saying anything. They were all too busy with their own lives, their own distractions. But not Y/n. They couldnât unsee what was happening to him, couldnât turn away from the unraveling thread that seemed to be pulling him apart.
It was late one night when they finally decided to confront him.
They found him sitting in the corner of the dimly lit barracks, alone, hunched over a map, though his eyes were vacant, his mind clearly elsewhere. His fingers traced the edges of the paper absently, but his thoughts were miles away. His body language was telling, the tense shoulders, the way his gaze never really landed on anything for too long, the ever-present exhaustion that clung to him like a shadow.
Y/n hesitated at the door, uncertain. Should they really do this? What if it made things worse? But they couldnât shake the feeling that Price was already slipping through their fingers, and if they didnât do something now, they might lose him for good.
Taking a steadying breath, Y/n pushed the door open slowly, stepping into the quiet room. The soft creak of the door seemed too loud in the stillness, and for a second, Price didnât react at all. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didnât even look up when they entered. His back was to them, his head down, and he hadnât moved an inch since Y/n had first caught sight of him through the crack in the door.
"Price?" Y/n called softly, careful not to startle him.
At the sound of their voice, Price froze, as if their words were a jolt to his senses. He slowly lifted his head, his face a mixture of surprise and something that looked like⊠shame? The moment his gaze met theirs, something in his expression shifted, his walls immediately snapped back into place, though it was clear it took effort. He gave them a tight, forced smile, and the usual weight of authority in his posture returned, but it didnât reach his eyes. They were still tired, too tired, like someone who had been running on fumes for too long.
"I didnât mean to disturb you," Y/n continued, stepping further into the room. "Youâve been keeping to yourself lately."
"Iâm fine," Price said quickly, his voice almost too sharp, too defensive. He straightened up a little but didnât make any move to stand. His eyes flicked to the map in front of him, a clear sign that he wanted to change the subject, to push them away.
But Y/n wasnât going to let him off that easily. They could see the weariness in him, the way he was pretending to be fine when he was anything but. "Are you sure about that?" they asked, stepping closer to the desk, their gaze never leaving his. "Because it doesnât seem like it."
Priceâs lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, it looked like he was about to snap, to tell them to mind their own business. But then, his shoulders sagged, the fight slowly draining out of him, like he couldnât summon the energy to keep up the act anymore. His gaze dropped to the map again, but his fingers no longer traced its edges. They lay flat on the paper, motionless.
"I donât want to talk about it," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
Y/n didnât back down. "You donât have to talk about everything, but you canât keep doing this alone. Iâm here, Price. You donât have to shut everyone out."
The silence between them thickened, and for a moment, Price said nothing. His eyes were closed now, his jaw clenched, as if struggling with the decision to say something, anything, that would break the dam he had so carefully built. His fists tightened on the edge of the table, and a low sigh escaped him.
"I donât want to drag anyone else into it," he said quietly, his voice rough. "Iâve been dealing with it for so long, I⊠I donât know how to stop."
Y/n felt their heart tighten at his words. They had never seen Price so vulnerable, so lost. He was always the one others leaned on, the one with the answers, the one who always knew what to do. To see him like this, unraveling before their eyes, was a stark reminder of how much he had been holding inside.
"You donât have to carry it alone," Y/n said again, softer this time. They moved closer, standing beside him, but not too close, just enough to offer a sense of quiet presence. "Whatever it is, Iâm here. You donât have to shut me out. Not now."
For a long time, Price didnât speak. He kept his head down, his eyes still closed, his breath shallow. The only sound in the room was the faint rustling of paper as he absentmindedly shifted the map in front of him.
Then, with a deep breath, Price slowly opened his eyes, and for the first time in a long while, they met Y/n's gaze with a rawness that startled them. The walls he had so carefully built up, walls that no one had been able to breach before, were starting to crack.
"You donât get it," he said hoarsely, his voice trembling for the first time. "Iâve tried⊠tried to keep everything together. But my partner⊠they, " His words faltered, and his throat tightened. He swallowed hard, as if the very act of speaking the truth was an unbearable weight.
Y/nâs heart clenched in sympathy, but they didnât pull away. "Whatâs been happening, Price?" They asked gently. "You can tell me. Whatever it is, I wonât judge you."
Priceâs hand shook as it hovered over the map, and for a second, he looked like he might pull away entirely. But then, as if the last bit of strength he had left was being used up in that moment, he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Theyâve been⊠controlling," he muttered, his face twisted in pain. "At first, it was subtle. Little things. Guilt trips when I wasnât there for them, making me feel like I was abandoning them if I wasnât available. I tried to brush it off, tell myself it was just⊠stress. But then it kept getting worse. The manipulation, the guilt⊠the constant need to be needed."
Priceâs chest rose and fell sharply with each breath, like he was barely holding it together. "I didnât realize how deep it had gotten until⊠until it was too late. They made me doubt myself. Made me feel like I was nothing without them. And now, every time I try to step away, to get some space, they pull me right back in. I canât breathe, canât think. Iâm⊠trapped."
The rawness in his voice struck Y/n like a physical blow, and they reached out instinctively, their hand landing gently on his arm. "Price," they said softly, their voice thick with emotion, "you donât deserve that. No one does."
For a moment, there was no response. Price didnât look at them. His gaze was distant, lost in the turmoil of his own thoughts, and the silence between them seemed to stretch on forever. But then, slowly, Priceâs hand moved. It hovered over his arm where Y/nâs hand rested, and then, with a visible shudder, he allowed his fingers to curl around theirs, his grip tentative but desperate.
"You donât know what itâs like," he whispered, his voice shaking. "To feel like youâre losing yourself, to have someone pull you apart piece by piece. Iâm not the man I was. I donât even know who I am anymore."
Y/n tightened their grip, offering him reassurance, silently promising that they wouldnât let him go. "Youâre still you, Price. You donât have to lose yourself. Not while Iâm here. I wonât let you."
Priceâs eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment, he simply breathed, his shoulders trembling with the weight of everything he had been holding in. The tension in the room was palpable, thick with emotion, but there was something else, something shifting between them, something fragile and tender.
Slowly, Price exhaled, and when he opened his eyes again, there was a glimmer of something new, vulnerability, trust, maybe even hope. His grip on their hand tightened ever so slightly, as if the act of holding on to someone, of letting himself be held, was a lifeline he hadnât realized he needed.
"I donât know how to get out of this," he murmured, his voice rough but softer now. "I feel like Iâve been stuck in this endless cycle, and every time I think Iâm free, it pulls me right back in."
Y/n squeezed his hand gently, offering their strength, their unwavering support. "You donât have to do this alone, Price. You donât have to fight this by yourself. Iâm here. Weâre in this together."
For the first time, Price looked at them fully, really looked at them, his gaze searching, as if he were seeing them for the first time. There was a flicker of recognition in his eyes, something akin to hope, but it was delicate, like a flower blooming after a long winter.
He took a deep, steadying breath, and for the first time in a long while, the tension in his posture seemed to ease, just a little. "I donât deserve this," he whispered, his voice tinged with guilt.
Y/n shook their head, the words slipping out before they could stop them. "You do deserve this, Price. You deserve so much more than this, more than the way theyâve treated you, more than the way youâve been living. You deserve peace. You deserve to be happy. And you deserve someone who sees you for who you truly are, not for what they want you to be."
The words hung in the air between them, the weight of truth settling in the room like a soft but undeniable presence. For a moment, Price didnât respond, his eyes drifting down to where their hands were still clasped. His thumb gently traced the back of their hand, as if the simple touch was grounding him, helping him hold onto something real, something stable.
"Youâve always been there," Price said quietly, his voice barely a whisper. "Youâve always been the one to stay, to watch, to listen. But I⊠I donât know how to let anyone in anymore. Not like this."
Y/n held his hand a little tighter, their heart aching for him, but their mind steady, focused. They had always been the one to stay, and they couldnât, wouldnât, turn away now. Not when Price needed help the most. Not when the person he had trusted had taken so much from him.
"You donât have to know how to let anyone in right now," Y/n said softly, their voice calm and reassuring. "What matters is that youâve taken the first step. Youâve already trusted me enough to let me in, even if just a little. And thatâs enough for now. Weâll figure the rest out together."
Priceâs eyes closed again, and he exhaled shakily, like a man who had been holding his breath for far too long. When he opened them again, there was something different in his gaze, something that hadnât been there before. It wasnât hope, not exactly, but it was the faintest glimmer of it. And that was enough.
"But what do I do now?" His voice was quiet, almost lost. "How do I get out of this⊠this mess Iâve made with them?"
Y/n sat down beside him, their posture relaxed, but the determination in their eyes unyielding. "Weâll report it, Price. I know itâs hard, but you donât have to carry this weight on your own anymore. You deserve to be free of this. And weâll make sure that happens."
Priceâs breath hitched, and for a brief moment, he looked like he might pull away again, retreating into the shell he had built. But instead, he turned to face Y/n, his expression softening slightly. "I donât even know where to start. Theyâve got so much control over me⊠What if I canât prove it? What if they turn everything against me?"
Y/n placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a firm squeeze. "Weâll gather the evidence, the things theyâve done. It might be difficult, but weâre not going to leave it to chance. Youâre not alone in this, Price. You donât have to fight this battle by yourself anymore."
He nodded slowly, his eyes still dark with the weight of everything, but there was a small flicker of something, maybe relief, or maybe just the beginning of trust, something he hadnât allowed himself to feel in a long time.
"I donât know what I wouldâve done without you," he murmured, his voice quiet but sincere.
Y/n smiled softly, though their heart ached with an emotion they couldnât quite define. "You donât have to know," they said gently, their voice steady. "All that matters is that you donât have to do this alone anymore."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the weight of the situation pressing down on them both, but in that silence, there was a sense of understanding, of a new kind of connection forming between them, one that wasnât based on walls or distance, but on something real, something solid.
When Price finally looked up again, there was a new resolve in his eyes. It wasnât the ironclad confidence he usually carried, but it was something else, something that showed he was willing to try. He wasnât sure how this would end, but for the first time in a long while, he wasnât facing it alone.
"Iâll do it," he said quietly, his voice rough but resolute. "Iâll report it. I donât know how this will play out, but I have to do something. I canât keep living like this."
Y/n nodded, their own determination mirrored in his words. "Weâll make sure your voice is heard, Price. You donât have to go through this in silence anymore."
Priceâs hand lingered on theirs for a moment longer before he slowly pulled away, standing up, but there was no longer a sense of isolation in his movements. It was as if something had shifted, and though the road ahead was still uncertain, it didnât seem quite as daunting.
"I⊠I donât even know whatâs next," he admitted, his voice quiet, but there was less fear in it than before.
"Weâll take it one step at a time," Y/n replied, standing up beside him. "And whatever happens, weâll figure it out together."
Price nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on them for a moment before he turned to face the door, the weight of what he was about to do still heavy, but no longer entirely overwhelming. There was a new quiet strength in his stance, a sense that he was ready to face whatever came next, not alone, but with someone who cared, who had seen his struggle, and who was willing to stand by his side.
As they walked together to make the report, the unspoken words between them were heavy, words that Y/n could never say, not yet, not when the time wasnât right. They had always been the steady presence in Priceâs life, but now, there was something deeper, something far more complicated. But for now, they pushed those feelings aside. They couldnât risk making this about them. This wasnât the time for confessions or clarity.
They would help him get through this. And in doing so, they would keep him safe, both from the manipulation he had suffered and from whatever might come next. They could only hope that, in time, when everything was out in the open, there would be room for something more between them.
But that was a future for another time.
For now, they were here. Together. And that was all that mattered.
