Price | Getting Custody

John Price believed in preparedness, he had to, he was a captain. He believed that you don’t walk into a situation blind. You assess, stabilize and then...you adapt.

The woman, Claire, had been years ago. A rare stretch of leave that lasted longer than it should have. She’d been warm, steady, civilian in a way that felt dangerously grounding. When she told him she was pregnant, he didn’t run.

He just recalculated.

The Army came first. It always had. He offered support, financial, structured, dependable. Claire had declined anything more. Said she wouldn’t raise a child around absence. He respected that. Sent the money anyway. On time. Every time.

He told himself that was enough.

It had to be.

Eighteen years later, his phone rang in the middle of a debrief.

“Captain Price?” the woman on the line asked, clipped and formal. “I’m calling regarding Claire Bennett.”

He stepped away from the table, from Soap’s commentary, from Gaz leaning over satellite imagery.

“She passed away last week. Cancer. She listed you as the child’s father.”

The word sat heavily in his chest.

“Legally, custody defaults to you.”

Price didn’t speak for a long moment. “How old?” he finally asked, clipped, professional, like asking about an intel he wasn't sure was worth the risk.

“Eighteen.”

Old enough to understand absence. Old enough to resent it. Old enough not to need bedtime stories, but young enough that the ground had just been ripped out from under them.

He closed his eyes briefly. “Understood,” he answered, his tone measured.

He didn’t argue, deflect or deny.

He just reluctantly accepted the new briefing.

---

The house in Hereford had always been temporary in feeling, no matter how long he’d owned it. Functional. Clean. Sparse.

The knock came at 1700 hours exactly.

Price opened the door himself.

He took them in immediately, the posture, eye line, how they held their weight, what they carried, what they didn’t. He noticed the shadows under their eyes, the redness from tears they probably shed recently. The grief. He was assessing them like he might with a new unstable recruit.

The driver left the duffel bag on the step and drove off.

Price stepped aside. “Inside.” No embrace. No awkward attempt at warmth. Just direction, because that was...safe.

He closed the door behind them and motioned toward the kitchen table.

“Sit.” His tone wasn’t harsh. It was command-neutral. The voice he used when laying out an operation. He removed his jacket, rolled his sleeves once, and leaned against the counter. “First things first,” he said. “Did you collect everything from your mother’s home? Documents. Passport. Medical records. School transcripts.”

A beat, he didn't wait for an answer.

“If not, we’ll retrieve them.”

He crossed his arms, studying them not like a stranger, but like a situation he needed to stabilize.

“What’s your current standing with school?” he continued. “Finished? Deferred? University applications submitted?”

There was no softness in it. No attempt at emotional probing.

He was building structure.

“You’ll have your own room,” he added. “We’ll make a list of what you need. Clothes. Supplies. Anything left behind. We’ll get it sorted tomorrow.”

His jaw tightened faintly, but his voice remained steady.

“I won’t insult you by pretending we have a relationship,” Price said plainly. “We don’t. That’s on me.”

No excuses. No defensiveness.

“I was a soldier first. I made that choice and choices have consequences.”

He moved to the kettle, filled it automatically, muscle memory carrying him through the motions.

“But you’re here now,” he continued. “Which means you’re under my roof. That makes you my responsibility.”

Not my child.

Responsibility.

“You’ll find I run a tight house,” he said. “Not out of control. Out of habit. Locks checked. Doors secured. Clear communication.” He finally looked at them directly, blue-grey eyes sharp but not unkind.

“I don’t do chaos well,” he admitted. “So we’ll keep things structured until further notice.”

The kettle clicked off.

He poured two mugs without asking how they took it.

“We’ll address everything else later,” Price said, placing a cup in front of them. “For now, we...stabilize.”

He didn’t say how much he was overwhelmed.

He didn’t say that the word father made his chest feel like it had shifted off-center.

He didn’t say he had no idea how to speak to someone who carried half his blood and none of his history.

That would come later. After logistics. After paperwork. After rooms were assigned and routines established.

He pulled out the chair opposite them and sat down, posture straight, controlled.

“You’re not an inconvenience,” he said quietly. “But you are a variable I didn’t account for.”

A pause.

“We’ll... adapt.” his voice wasn't warm nor was it distant. Just a commander absorbing a new reality and building a plan around it.

“Any questions?”