Just thinking about Captian Price, the man you had heard stories of ever since you joined the military, a hero, a force to be reckoned with, the man who makes the impossible possible. You see pictures of him in the news sometimes, smiling next to admirals and generals alike, reciving medals and honors and the admiration of his country.
So of course you looked up to him, like a sheep to a Shepard. When Laswell told you the news, and brought you to Captian Price, tall, broad, and so much more than the pictures could ever capture, you were determined to impress him.
Your new team was already full of capable men, and you didn't want to be a burden to them, something that they had to worry about. You spent double the time they did in the gym, and when your lunch break came around, ran for the entirety of it.
It was grueling, and you always fell into your bed at the end of the workday exhausted and at your limit, but when Price puts his warm hand on your shoulder, leaning down to give you a commending "Good job.", it made everything worth it.
You spent hours in his office, sitting across from him at his desk as you poured over files. It was usually you, Price, and Ghost. But sometimes, it would just be the two of you.
And the air would shift
Price would be a little more free with his complements, something innocent, a "Nice work on the last mission, love. Always such a good solider.", or a "That was a good spar with Kyle earlier. You've been working hard."
But sometimes it was something... more.
"You look good today love, new blouse?" He would ask, and it was hard to hide your flush as you stammered out a thank you, as Price gave you one of those smiles, knowing and calculating.
So, months later, when the heavy weight of Prices hand settled firmly against your lower back, bending you down against the cool mahogany of his desk, you obeyed, like a good solider would. He wouldn't lead you astray, right?
Captian Price, who's hands tighten against his beer bottle as he watches you dance with Colonel Vargas.
It had been a successful mission, and Price had to watch all week, the transition from Colonal Vargas to Alejandro, the "friendship" growing right before his eyes and the rest of the milling soliders, under the orange Mexican sun. Others danced around you, traditional music ringing across the hangar bay, that had been quickly fixed into a gathering place for the celebrating soliders from both armies, and the rich smell of food and sweat permitted the air, the cases of alcohol quickly growing emptier by the hour.
"Ah think the Colonal's got yer bonnie, Cap." Soap commented, watching the festivities as he sits sandwiched between Rudy and Ghost.
"Shut it." Price growled, taking a swig of his drink.
His jealousy lessens when the music changes, and Gaz gracefully butts in to take your hand as his dancing partner. You wave at Vargas with a grin, and the man flashes you and equally happy smile as he weaves out of the crowd to take a break and mingle.
Rudy shakes his head. "Alejandro has always gotten what he wants, Captian. But, I'm sure he'll share with you, if you ask nicely."
Price feels as if he has gotten shot, and Soap, who barks out laughing, doubling over in tears doesn't help his irritation.
"Good looking man," Simon comments, standing up with a grunt. He reaches over and claps Price on the shoulder, "I'd take the offer if I were you."
Decorated war hero Captian John Price sits, and has to come with the dawning realization that the comrade he has harbored feelings for, is falling for another man, who he will have to grovel to in order to receive your affection.
He wishes Graves had finished him off when he had the chance.
You had been with the 141 for some time, and they were yours and you were their's in every sense. Your brother's in arms. Fighting and bleeding together, showering under waterfalls deep in south american jungles and sleeping huddled together in the cold Russian forests.
Your brothers, who were oh so protective of you. You had never been without at least one of them, always Soap walking with you to the galley or cuddled up with Kyle, tv illuminating you both on nights the guilt and trauma of your jobs left you restless. Spending time in Prices office while he worked, or in the gym with Ghost, working out side by side.
The five of you were a family, and they never let you forget that. Trinkets from far off countries when they came back from separate missions, extravagant birthday presents and candlelight dinners on the rare occasion there was no work to be done, no critical mission and no evil leader looking to take over the world.
So, when you had been pushed to the wall, head smacking the stone behind you, arms grappling against your assailant, as that solider (the very same one that Kyle had frowned at when he saw his gaze linger on you) held you down, screamed at you, for earning your spot on your knees, for being the base whore and the 141's personal slut when you had rejected him, you had been utterly confused and enraged.
You had earned your spot. You certainly hadn't slept with your comrades, 141 or not, and you certainly hadn't planned on it.
You had looked, of course. Spending months in rural countries, being in forced proximity to large, good looking men, well it was inevitable. They looked too, obviously. You were the only woman with them. Soap flirted, as he always did, and when timed dragged on, the shoulder pats and fist bumps from everyone grew more bold, a hand settled on your lower back, or pulling you close to whoevers side, arm wrapped around your waist.
It's when you get separated from the solider who attacked you, others from his unit yelling as they separate him from you, and him from Soap, who is being held back by five men including Gaz (who all struggle to hold the furious scot down), that your mind races. You are gasping for breath, shock running its course through your body at everything, and you turn and run blindly, away from the shouting and the accusations.
Your feet take you down a familiar path, and you don't even knock, just bursting into Price's office. The gazes of your captian and your lieutenant burn into you, and Ghost, who had been lazing about on Prices couch, boots scuffing the coffee table with his balaclava pushed up to his nose, shoots up in alarm.
"Love?" Price asks as he strides over, gaze darkening as he takes in your disheveled appearance. "What happened?"
He puts his warm hands on your shoulders, and your rush forward, burying your muffled sob in his chest as he hold you tightly against him.
Ghosts swears under his breath, sharing a concerned look with Price.
The door opens once more moments later, Gaz being followed by Soap. Soap softens when he sees you.
"Bonnie, ahm so sorry-" He starts, but is interrupted by Ghost.
"What happened." He ordered, voice cracking across the room like thunder, but you don't flinch, you know he's just worried about you.
You sniff, pressing your cheek against Price's chest as you face Ghost, saving Soap from his wrath.
"It was nothing. I rejected his guy and he got mad."
"Mad! He bloody attacked yeh!" Soap retorted, and Price stiffened.
"Who was it?" Price asked darkly.
Gaz shook his head. "Some Army guy, I don't know him, but I've seen him around. The MP's took him away, they'll want to talk to Y/N later."
"I should've killed him right there." Soap glowered, flexing his arm. "Saying all tha rubbish an puttin his hands on yeh."
Your cheeks heat up. You hadn't exactly wanted them to know that part of the incident, and when Price rumbles out a, "What rubbish?" You die a little on the inside.
Soap, with all his anger, goes eerily quiet, so Gaz sighs and steps up. "He said that, uh, she's sleeping with all of us, called her the base whore."
The room is dead silent, and Prices grip on you tightens. But, the energy in the room shifts to something else, something warmer and uncharted.
It had been so long since you've been with someone, casually or not. Your job made it almost impossible to date, and being trailed by 6ft special forces men all the time made even the most desperate potential flings turn tail and run. But maybe you had been blind. There obviously was some truth behind the rumor, for someone to so baselessly attack you over it. Maybe the key to your solutions was in front of you the entire time.
"Well," You said wiping your eyes and letting your gaze meet each of their eyes. You don't know where the boldness comes from, but the adrenaline and emotions of the earlier incident flow through you, "I don't like being lied about. We may as well make the rumors true, don't you think?"
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