Chapter Text
Stay away, away, away
2001
All new recruits blend into one another, Price thought. That was his excuse for why he didn’t notice Private Riley until a few months after he joined the squadron. Not that he stuck out much - tall, blonde, buzzcut, that described half the soldiers on base. Not even the tattoos were much of a distinguishing mark, a surprising amount of new recruits felt the need to express their military career on their skin. Price envied their arrogance at believing they’d survive long enough to see them age. That being said, most new recruits hadn’t covered both of their arms with scenes of war and violence.
There was something different about Riley, though. He was cordial enough to his fellow soldiers and respectful to his commanding officers, but his eyes were distant and wary. It was as if he was waiting for something terrible to happen, and when it did he wouldn’t be surprised. Trouble at home, maybe? Not uncommon with army lads, but most of them still took their annual leave. Not Riley.
“Staying at base, Private?”
It was Boxing Day, the fairy lights in the common room and the synthetic tree in the corner being the feeble attempts to capture the season’s festivity. Most officers were home for the holidays but Riley was sitting in the kitchen, staring into his tea. Price would’ve been home too, but his superiors had lumped him with all the paperwork and more expected from his Lieutenant rank, and he didn’t really fancy doing it in his empty flat in Liverpool. The base was what he was used to, and it seemed that was the case for Riley too. He looked up, startled. He probably expected the base to be empty, Price guessed that was why he was actually being seen in a communal area for once and not holing himself up in his quarters.
“Planning on it, sir.” Riley’s voice was steady, and hid his surprise well. He stared unblinkingly at Price and then briefly looked away, almost embarrassed.
Price shifted his weight from one foot to another, and moved from the doorway towards the kettle in the kitchen. He had originally arrived to take down the lights, but decided against it for now, imagining how depressing it would make the scene in front of him. Best to wait until the rest of the base returns back. Anyway, isn’t a man allowed a cup of tea? You know what, this would finally be an opportunity to get to know one of his soldiers a bit more! Gauge his character. Price liked being familiar with his officers, but Riley seemed to evade him each time he thought of striking up a conversation.
“Well, join the club. Not a big one, mind you. Think it’s just us and a couple other lads ‘til the new year. Time to make the most of the peace and quiet, for once.” The kettle had boiled by now, and Price sat down opposite Riley whilst his tea brewed.
“You’ve made that wrong, you know.” Riley said, nodding in the direction of Price’s cup. It was so unexpected that Price couldn’t think of an immediate response.
“Should’ve used new water in the kettle, that water’s been boiled already. Makes the tea taste like shit.” Riley continued. A private telling him how to make his tea? Never on God’s green Earth did Price expect that. Anyway, he’d eaten expired MREs for two weeks straight and drank from a stagnant water tank, he could handle some substandard (apparently!) tea.
“I’ll keep that in mind for next time, Private.” Price replied, trying to disguise how he indignantly did not want to keep that in mind, ever. Okay, maybe he was a bit too prideful. Everyone’s allowed a flaw.
“Can’t say I really care much about it though. You’ll be surviving on a lot worse than my tea in the field.”
Riley (God, what was his first name? Samuel? Sam? Simon? Simon, that’s it.) smirked, a quick movement of the corner of his mouth which he disguised by taking a sip of his tea. “Just thought you might like to know, sir. Not that it’d make much of a difference with those teabags.”
Alright, so Price used the base’s supermarket brand teabags. Was that a crime? The army had enough to spend money on with new gear and obtaining weapons of mass destruction, he wasn’t going to put a dent in the budget by ordering Yorkshire tea or PG Tips or whatever fancy tea Riley drank. (Okay, maybe he had gone too far with Lidl breakfast tea. He could probably stretch to buying some PG Tips.)
“That’s enough talk from you, Riley. What’re you doing here, anyway? Nowhere with proper teabags you can stay this time of year?” Price thought the private probably deserved a bit of a ribbing for all his talk of tea, but he regretted it as soon as he saw a flicker of discomfort across his face. A pause stretched out between them and he was about to take back his question when Riley answered.
“Shit tea at home, sir.” Family issues then, Price thought. Not too surprising. Still a bit of a stupid idea to ask about it right away. Hey, Price wasn’t a diplomat. Everyone’s allowed two flaws.
“Sorry to hear that.” A brief silence turned into an awkwardly long one. Okay. Time to see if he can still salvage this.
“You know how to play Old Maid?” Price asked. Riley raised an eyebrow. That looked like a no.
“It’s an old card game, used to play it all the time when I was your age.” Seems like donkey’s years ago now. He probably sounded like a right old man saying that. Price thought Simon might be thinking the same thing.
He smiled, and Price realised he’d never seen his smile before. Not with the other soldiers, at least.
“Sounds like I’m in for a lesson, then.”
The week in a similar fashion, Price and Riley mostly keeping to themselves but coming together for card games and cups of tea, and occasional smoke breaks whenever it wasn’t raining. They exchanged a few anecdotes and stories, but mostly kept to a comfortable silence. Neither of them was a man of many words, Simon least of all. Price told Simon how he worried about his younger brother, and after a while Simon told Price the same about his. Price talked about wanting to be a gardener before the army (not that there was much ‘before’, he joined at 16 for God’s sake.) and Simon talked about being an apprentice butcher before he got the urge to up and leave. They didn’t get close enough to talk about that.
When the new year started and the base became alive again with drill routines and chatter in the hallway, Price saw a lot less of Simon. Sometimes when he couldn’t sleep he’d get up and make a cuppa, and sometimes he found Simon doing the same. It was like last year but without the fairy lights, and Price was now too busy juggling paperwork and an entire squadron of men to carry a pack of cards.
The last time they saw each other was on a chilly January night just over a year after their first meeting. Price went out for a cigar (too many bloody fire alarms on base), and saw the glowing red end of Riley’s cigarette as he approached.
“What’re you thinking about, Simon?” Price had become comfortable using Riley’s first name, and he didn’t seem to mind. Not that it stopped him calling Price anything other than that. Not that Price would want him calling him John. Or Johnny. Jesus, imagine that.
“I’m going away for a bit soon. Finally using up my leave.” Simon sounded like he was trying to make a joke but his heart wasn’t in it. He didn’t look at Price, he was staring at his cigarette. It’d burn his fingers soon if he wasn’t careful. Price was pleasantly surprised by the news, it’s not good for a man to be cooped up on base month after month without a small dose of civilian life every now and then. Okay, maybe Price was a bit of a hypocrite. He’s a flawed man.
“Well, it’s about time! Doing anything nice?” Price’s attempt to lighten the mood fell flat. Riley kept his eyes on his cigarette. Definitely burning his fingers now. Price lit his cigar and leaned against the wall next to Riley.
“My mum called. She’s…” Simon finally looked up at Price for a brief second and his eyes flickered with worry.
“I think I need to see how she’s doing. How they’re all doing.” No skiing holiday for him, then. There and then, decided he’d actually go home this Christmas. Might be good to see Mum again.
Simon lit another cigarette, Price puffed on his cigar. Two glowing circles in the darkness blazed, then dimmed.
Hide the sun
I will leave your face out of my mind
2006
One week’s leave turned into a month, and soon enough next Christmas came around and Simon was still nowhere to be seen. Price immediately regretted going on leave after an hour at his Mum’s (“When are you getting married? Isn’t it time to settle down and get a mortgage? Your cousin had a baby last week, isn’t she cute?”) and after five minutes in his cramped shell of a flat.
He wondered what happened to Riley. Maybe the lad had decided to abandon the army? Wouldn’t be the first time it happened, it isn’t for everyone. But he felt disappointed. There was promise in him, he could see it. He just hoped it didn’t go to waste.
Price had nearly forgotten about the private (there was enough bullshit to deal with being a lieutenant, even more after he joined the SAS) until a couple of years later. Different base, same shit - just two men who can’t sleep craving a tea. Simon looked better, Price thought. More content, less worried. More self assured. He still possessed that unnerving gaze of his, but the edge was taken off, and without glancing away occasionally like he used to. And his fingers were less nicotine stained than he remembered. Not that Price could talk, fucking hell.
Simon’s brother had gotten married, as it happened. And he’d joined the SAS. Price always secretly hoped he would. There was no doubt he could get in, 10% selection success rate be damned. Command was already sending him out on missions, and it wouldn’t be long until his next one started. Classified of course, but Price got the feeling it was an important one. Well. More important than usual.
Two card games later and they went their separate ways. For a while, as it turned out.