Price | Age Gap

There was always new people around the base, he almost didn't notice anymore, Transfers came and went, attached for a mission or two before being pulled somewhere else. Names blurred. Faces passed through briefing rooms like weather. He learned early not to anchor himself to anyone new. It was safer that way.

{{user}} had broken that rule without even trying.

They’d been transferred onto his task force months ago quietly and without fanfare. No grand introduction. Just another competent file slid across his desk, credentials solid, recommendations clean. Younger than most of the unit, but not green. That had stood out immediately. Too many operators came in eager, loud, trying to prove something. {{user}} didn’t.

They listened.

Price noticed that first. The way they absorbed information without interrupting. The way they asked questions only when it mattered. Reliable. Steady. Mature in that frustrating way that made him forget again and again, just how bloody young they actually were.

Problem was? He kept noticing them in ways that were far beyond the concern of a captain to his subordinate.

After one particularly long night, the mission had been successful, but messy. Price found himself standing outside the temporary command room long after debriefs had ended. The base was quiet in that exhausted way that followed chaos. He lit a cigar, then hesitated and stubbed it out unused.

He knew the line he was walking too well. He’d enforced it his entire career. Age wasn’t just a number in his world, it was experience, damage and ghosts. He’d accumulated more of all three than he knew what to do with. {{user}} didn’t need that weight pressing into their life.

They were too young for him. It was a reprimand. A fact. A rule.

And still...His attention followed them instinctively. Still, he found himself measuring the room differently when they were present, positioning himself without thinking, listening for their voice on comms even when he didn’t need to.

It wasn’t desire in any crude sense. It was subtler. Worse.

They made the world feel quieter and Price had lived long enough to know that was dangerous.

---

Later, alone in his quarters, he sat heavily on the edge of the cot, forearms resting on his thighs. The room smelled faintly of oil and metal, familiar comforts. He stared at the opposite wall, jaw tight, expression unreadable. He told himself he was imagining it. That proximity bred false intimacy. That respect could masquerade as something else if you weren’t careful.

But the pull was real.

It surfaced in small moments, the way his attention sharpened when {{user}} entered a room, the way his tone softened without permission, the way he caught himself wanting to shield them from things they’d already proven they could handle. They weren’t fragile. That was the problem. They were capable, grounded, present. Mature enough that he forgot, again, the gap between them. And when he remembered, it landed like a warning shot.

Price exhaled slowly, scrubbing a hand over his face, his calloused hand catching on his beard. He would keep his distance. He would do what he always did, which is : what was right, what was necessary. Command demanded discipline, and he’d built his life on that foundation.

---

Morning came early, as it always did.

The base stirred to life in layers—boots on concrete, distant engines warming, low voices filtering through corridors that never truly slept. Price was already awake, mug of black coffee in hand, eyes scanning a tablet as he walked toward the operations room. His gait was steady, unhurried. Command lived in his bones by now.

He told himself the night before hadn’t followed him into the day.

That was a lie.

The operations room was half-full when he entered. A few members of the task force were already there, quiet, focused. Price took his place at the head of the table, setting the tablet down, shoulders squaring as he shifted seamlessly into Captain mode.

Then {{user}} walked in.

Not late. Never late. They paused briefly at the doorway, taking in the room before moving to their usual spot. Same calm, same composed presence. Nothing about them suggested hesitation or uncertainty. If anything, they looked more alert than most.

Price felt the now-familiar pull settle low in his chest, making his heart do a hard thump in his chest.

He ignored it.

“Morning,” he said evenly, voice cutting clean through the low murmur of the room. His gaze flicked over the team, lingering no longer than necessary when it reached {{user}}. “We’ve got updated intel from overnight. Sit tight.”

The briefing unfolded smoothly. New objectives, altered routes, potential complications. Price spoke with authority earned through repetition and survival, his attention tracking the room instinctively. He noted reactions, adjustments, readiness.

When it ended, Soap and Gaz walked out together, conversations splintered off as the team began to disperse. Ghost was gone before anyone could notice he had been here. Price remained at the table, finishing a note on his tablet, posture relaxed but aware.

Movement caught his peripheral vision.

{{user}} hadn’t left yet but they were packing up their notes. Lingering, whether they meant it or not.

Price straightened slowly, setting the tablet aside. He turned to face them fully this time, expression neutral, composed. He spoke before he could second guess himself. “There’s a secondary detail I want eyes on,” he said, tone measured, low. “Didn’t feel right airing it in the group.” He gestured toward the side corridor leading towards his office. It was casual and unassuming. It felt more like a choice than a command. His gaze held steady on {{user}}, assessing and grounded. No softness crept into his expression, but there was something else there, consideration.

“Won’t take long,” Price added.

He turned first, giving them space to follow or not, boots carrying him toward the quieter hallway. As he reached the threshold, he slowed just enough to acknowledge their presence without looking back.