Work Text:
꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂
mum and dad
The safehouse had good bones.
Not the usual concrete box with blackout curtains and a smell of old cordite. This one was a proper log cabin that looked like it belonged on a postcard you’d never send. Timber beams. A stone chimney. Warm light pooling through windows like honey. Outside, the forest was dressed in winter’s best, every branch traced in white. Snow fell in slow, polite spirals, as if it knew better than to make a fuss.
Inside, the lads were somewhere being loud and young about everything. Someone had laughed hard enough to rattle a cupboard door. The kettle had been on at least three times in the last hour.
And then, in the middle of that comfortable chaos, Haven slipped outside.
She did it quietly. She always did things quietly. Like she was careful not to startle the world.
The balcony ran along the side of the cabin, railing frosted over, wood dark with cold. Haven leaned against it, forearms resting lightly, shoulders relaxed beneath her jacket. She breathed in, slow. The air had that winter-clean bite, the kind that made your lungs feel sharper.
She watched the snow like she was reading it.
Haven was slender and feminine in a way that never tried to be anything but itself. Grace in her posture, even when she was tired. Soft-spoken, but not timid. When she spoke, the words landed exactly where she meant them to. When she smiled, it was the sort of smile that could talk a room down from a fight.
Price had noticed that from the first moment he’d met her.
It had been in a briefing room months ago, fluorescent lighting and stale coffee and too many screens. Laswell had introduced her with the sort of clipped efficiency that meant: take this seriously.
Haven had stepped forward and offered her hand with calm composure. “Captain,” she’d said, voice smooth and elegant, “thank you for having me.”
And Price, who’d been Captain John Price for longer than some men had been alive, had taken off his hat to greet her properly.
Soap had almost choked.
Gaz had raised his eyebrows so high they threatened to leave his face.
Price had ignored them like a professional. Like a liar.
Because he’d been smitten. Clean through. The kind of attraction that didn’t arrive with a bang, but with a steady, undeniable pull. A gravity you stopped pretending wasn’t there after it had dragged you halfway across a room.
Now that same gravity tugged at him again.
Price walked past the balcony door, caught a glimpse of her silhouette against the falling snow, and his feet altered course without consulting his brain. He drifted toward her like the cabin itself had angled him in that direction.
He stepped outside.
Cold met him immediately, pressing against his cheeks, crawling into the edges of his hair. Snow kissed his shoulders and stuck. He let the door click shut behind him, the warmth muffled away.
Haven didn’t startle. She never did. She only turned her head slightly, as if she’d sensed him by weight and warmth rather than sound.
“Captain,” she said, soft, respectful, and somehow still intimate.
Price leaned his forearms on the railing beside her, careful to give her space. “Haven.”
A pause hung between them, full of unspoken things.
Then, like adults who knew how to stay sane in the middle of madness, they defaulted to the mission. It was the safest place to stand.
“How’s your read on tomorrow?” Price asked, eyes scanning the treeline out of habit.
Haven’s gaze stayed on the snowfall, thoughtful. “Clean enough, if the weather holds. Visibility will drop, but it’ll drop for everyone.”
Price made a quiet sound of agreement. “Snow’s a fickle friend.”
Haven’s mouth curved. “Better than rain.”
Price glanced at her. “You’ve got opinions about weather now, have you?”
“I’ve always had opinions,” she replied, gentle, amused. “You just don’t always ask.”
He huffed a small laugh through his nose. “Fair.”
They stood for a moment, watching the slow drift of white. The forest took it without complaint. The world softened at the edges.
Price looked at Haven properly.
The cold had painted her cheeks and nose a soft pink. Her lips were a shade deeper than usual from the chill. Snow dusted the dark strands of her hair and clung there, bright flecks caught in the balcony light. Her eyes looked calm. Present. Quietly pleased, like she’d found something here that the war hadn’t managed to ruin.
He felt, absurdly, like a young man.
Like he hadn’t worn this rank for years. Like he hadn’t carried men home in pieces. Like he hadn’t sat at tables like this one, reading reports until the words blurred and the cigar ash fell and the world kept turning anyway.
He felt embarrassed by how much he wanted to keep looking at her.
Price let out a shaky laugh, more breath than sound, and shifted his weight as if the railing had suddenly become interesting.
Haven turned to him, brows lifting in polite curiosity. “What was that?”
Price cleared his throat, buying himself a second. “Nothing.”
Haven’s smile warmed slightly. “It didn’t sound like nothing.”
Price glanced away toward the snow, then back to her, caught between habit and honesty.
He’d lied to targets. Lied to politicians. Lied to enemy forces and sometimes to himself. He was good at it.
He could never lie with her. Not convincingly.
Haven watched him patiently, as if she already knew and didn’t intend to rescue him from it.
Price exhaled, the cold turning his breath into a pale cloud. “You’re… you’re beautiful.”
The words left him before he could polish them into something safer. They landed there between them, plain and sincere.
Haven blinked, a quiet surprise. Then her cheeks went a shade warmer, not with embarrassment so much as appreciation. The kind of blush that said: I heard you, and it matters.
“That’s very kind,” she said softly.
Price’s eyes stayed on her face, serious. “It’s not kindness. It’s the truth.”
Haven’s lips parted as if she might deflect it with humour, but she didn’t. She seemed to consider the moment instead, turning it in her mind like a small gift.
Then, with a steadiness that told him she was far braver than most people gave her credit for, she said, “If we’re being honest…”
Price’s heart gave an inconvenient thump.
Haven’s gaze met his, bright and straightforward. “I find you quite attractive.”
Price went still.
Haven continued, her voice calm and gentle as ever, but there was something new threading through it. A warmth. A willingness.
“And it’s… distracting,” she added, just slightly amused with herself.
Price stared at her for a beat like he’d been shot and was waiting to see if he’d fall over.
“Yeah?” he managed, voice low.
Haven nodded once, a small smile appearing. “Yes.”
Price stepped a fraction closer, not crowding her, just… closing the air between them. “Go on then.”
Haven’s eyes flicked briefly to his mouth and back up, as if she hadn’t meant to do it and couldn’t be bothered pretending she didn’t.
“You want examples?” she asked, tone gentle, teasing.
Price’s mouth twitched. “I’m listening.”
Haven rested her forearms on the railing again, eyes drifting out toward the snow as if she were selecting her thoughts like tools.
“The first time,” she said, “was in that briefing in October. You took off your hat.”
Price’s brow lifted. “That was just manners.”
Haven turned her head slightly, smile lingering. “It was. And it was also… terribly charming.”
Price made a quiet sound, half laugh, half surrender. “Right.”
Haven continued, “You stood up as if you’d been taught to do it properly. Like you were greeting someone you actually wanted to greet. Not just another asset Laswell threw into the room.”
Price’s gaze tightened with attention. He didn’t interrupt.
Haven’s voice stayed even. “I remember thinking, rather inconveniently, that I liked your hands.”
Price blinked. “My hands.”
Haven’s smile deepened. “Yes.”
Price looked down at his gloved fingers on the railing like they’d betrayed him.
Haven carried on, unhurried. “The second time was last week. After we got back from the site. You were in the kitchen and you didn’t realise anyone was watching.”
Price’s gaze slid back to her. “What was I doing.”
Haven’s eyes softened. “You were making tea.”
He stared. “That’s it?”
Haven’s mouth curved. “Captain, you were making tea as if it was a mission objective.”
Price let out a short huff, almost a laugh.
“And then,” Haven added, “Soap walked in and you looked at him like you were deciding whether to shoot him for breathing too loudly.”
Price muttered, “Still considering it.”
Haven’s quiet laugh was warm, genuine. “That look. That precise, exhausted patience. It’s… very you.”
Price found himself smiling back before he could stop it.
Haven’s gaze settled on him again, and this time there was no humour in it. Only clarity.
“It distracts me,” she said, softer. “Because I respect you. And I trust you. And because when you’re there, the world… steadies.”
Price’s chest tightened.
Snow fell around them, slow and steady, collecting on their shoulders, their hair, the railing beneath their hands. The cabin behind them glowed warm, but the balcony felt like its own separate world, quiet and suspended.
For a moment neither spoke. They simply looked at each other, the kind of silence that wasn’t awkward but loaded.
Price swallowed, throat working around words that had been waiting a long time.
When he spoke, his voice was low, unguarded. “I want to kiss you.”
Haven didn’t hesitate. She didn’t look away. She didn’t hide behind professionalism.
Her voice was soft, and the simple honesty of it felt like a door opening.
“Please do.”
Price stepped in.
He didn’t rush like a boy. He moved like a man who knew what he wanted and was careful with it. One gloved hand rose to cup her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek where the cold had turned her skin rosy. The other hand settled at her waist, firm enough to anchor her, gentle enough to ask permission with every inch of contact.
Haven tilted her chin up, eyes half-lidded, lips parting slightly as she leaned in to meet him.
Their mouths met.
Warmth against winter. A kiss that started deep and sure, not frantic, not hungry. Mature. Certain. Price’s hand at her waist drew her closer, and Haven’s fingers curled into his jacket, pulling him in with quiet insistence.
The kiss opened slowly, naturally. A soft press, then a deeper one. The faintest, careful brush that tested the line between them, not crossing it with urgency, just exploring like both of them were making sure this was real.
Haven made a small sound against his mouth, pleased and breathless, and Price felt it like a spark under his ribs.
Snow drifted down and landed on them, melting where it touched their warmth. The world stayed hushed, as if it had decided to give them privacy.
Price pulled back slightly, forehead close to hers, breath visible between them. His eyes searched her face as if he needed to confirm she was truly here.
Haven’s cheeks were flushed now, not just from the cold.
Her smile was small but radiant. “Captain,” she murmured, almost fondly scolding.
Price’s mouth twitched. “Don’t start with the rank now, love.”
Haven’s brows lifted, playful. “Love.”
Price blinked as if he’d surprised himself too.
Haven’s smile turned soft. “I don’t mind it.”
Price exhaled, a quiet laugh of relief, and leaned in for another kiss, slower, gentler. Haven met him willingly, hands sliding up to his shoulders, holding him there as if she’d been doing it for years.
And that’s when the universe, as always, remembered it hated peace.
From inside the cabin came a muffled whisper-shout that tried to be quiet and failed spectacularly.
“OI OI OI!”
Price broke the kiss, eyes narrowing, already knowing.
Another voice followed, delighted. “LOOK AT ‘EM!”
Soap and Gaz. Of course.
They were pressed up to the window like two nosy terrors, faces bright with triumph. Soap’s grin could’ve powered the cabin. Gaz was practically vibrating.
“HAPPY FOR YOU, MUM AND DAD!” Gaz hollered.
Soap cupped his hands around his mouth. “GO ON, CAPTAIN! GET IN THERE! OLD MARRIED COUPLE AT IT!”
Price’s face went from tender to murderous in half a second. “You little shites,” he growled, loud enough for them to hear through the glass.
Haven laughed. A real laugh, warm and ringing, the kind that made Price’s anger stumble and trip over itself.
Soap and Gaz started cheering like they’d just witnessed a championship match. “YESSS!” “FINALLY!” “ABOUT TIME!”
Price pointed at the window with the sternness of a man addressing a firing squad. “I will personally have you both cleaning latrines with a toothbrush.”
Gaz blew a kiss at the glass.
Soap did a ridiculous little dance.
Price’s eyes narrowed further. “I swear on my life, Johnny’s going to be my last name when I’m done with you.”
Haven was laughing openly now, shoulders shaking, and Price found that he couldn’t keep the scowl from softening. He looked at her, and she looked radiant in the snow, eyes bright with mirth.
Then the front door opened.
Ghost appeared like a spectre, hood up, face unreadable. He didn’t even look annoyed. He looked… efficient.
Soap and Gaz froze as if the temperature had dropped ten degrees.
Ghost grabbed both of them by their jackets, one in each hand, and began dragging them away from the window like they were misbehaving sacks of potatoes.
Soap protested, muffled. “GHOST, COME ON, IT’S ROMANTIC!”
Gaz tried to twist free. “WE’RE SUPPORTIVE!”
Ghost didn’t slow. He didn’t speak. He simply hauled them backward.
As he passed the balcony door, Ghost glanced up at Price and Haven and gave a single, small nod.
Not approval.
Acknowledgement.
Then he disappeared inside with the lads still squawking, their cheers fading down the hall like distant geese.
Silence returned, snow falling gentle as ever.
Price and Haven stood on the balcony again, catching their breath, half-laughing, half-stunned at being caught.
Haven wiped at her cheek where she’d laughed tears into the cold. “I suppose subtlety was never going to be an option.”
Price let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “They’ve been calling us mum and dad for months. Thought it was just boredom.”
Haven smiled sweetly. “It was. And also accurate.”
Price raised his brows. “Oh, was it.”
Haven stepped closer, closing the space without asking permission this time. Her hands settled lightly on his chest, fingers splaying as if she liked the feel of him there.
Price’s gaze dropped to her mouth, then lifted to her eyes.
“Captain,” she said, soft, teasing, “are you going to let the lads ruin the moment or…?”
Price’s hand slid back to her waist, steady and sure. “Not a chance.”
He leaned in and kissed her again.
This one was slower, deeper, unbothered by witnesses. A kiss for them, not the audience. Haven sighed into it, content, and Price felt the last of his embarrassment melt away.
Snow continued to fall, quiet and soft, crowning the balcony in white.
Inside, somewhere down the hall, Soap yelled something about “TRUE LOVE” and Ghost presumably considered murder.
On the balcony, Price kept Haven close, and the world, for a handful of winter minutes, steadied exactly the way she’d said it did.