Chapter Text
John Price had never been married.
He’d never even debated taking on that domestic mindset, instead opting to join the British Army at just sixteen years of age. From that point on, his sole focus had been on his career. This mindset paid off - he’d graduated top of his class from the Royal Military Academy, and then eventually joined the SAS. Now, he was a Captain in charge of one of the world’s most skilled task forces, and had gained the respect of most others in his field.
He’d never found a sweetheart, instead falling in love with his work. Not having a wife also meant not having children - no little ones to carry on the family name and instill all of his morals and values.
Did he regret it?
No. Regret was too specific, too negative.
Did John think about how different his life could have been if he’d never joined the army?
Sometimes, yes, but not in a way that impacted him negatively.
The reason for this was simple: The 141 were his family. A very strange, rather violent, and dysfunctional family, but a family nonetheless. Better yet, his men, his specially hand-picked soldiers of the 141, were the closest thing he had to children in this line of work.
There was Ghost - who was expertly skillful, cold-blooded, chillingly ruthless, and yet so incredibly broken - arguably the one who most needed a family…a support system. He was a man who had been dragged quite literally to hell and back - who had died and risen from the ashes as someone stronger - but someone who would never fully trust humanity again. It had taken a very long time to gain a portion of Ghost’s trust, and upon earning it, Price would do everything in his power to retain it.
There was Kyle - forever dependable, brilliantly tactical, and wholeheartedly pure despite his line of work. Kyle, who blushed at any sort of praise, yet had no problem giving compliments to others. This man saw the job through, no matter what the cost. His mental fortitude put others’ to shame. Price saw a younger version of himself in the sergeant - he had since the very beginning. In the field, “Gaz” was his shadow - his constant.
And lastly, there was Soap - or as Ghost had taken to calling him - “Johnny.” Soap, who was the youngest candidate to pass selection in the British Army’s entire bloody history, and proudly wore the status “perpetual FNG” because of it. Soap, who was young, but just as deadly as the rest of them, but also with arguably the most potential. Headstrong, fierce, and endearingly optimistic, Soap had the entire task force wrapped around his finger. Price would forever push him to his limits; he would be strict and demanding while pushing himself to be the best mentor that he could - because Soap needed it - and he would flourish from it.
Each of these men were like children - his children - and they were his family.
Rather than brag to his co-workers at the office about his boys’ report cards or football trophies, Price instead boasted to Laswell about their kill-counts, their diabolical sabotage tactics, and the substantial amount of lives they’d saved with every successful mission.
They were the closest Price had to having a family, and he was going to embrace it.