Lieutenant {{user}} and John Price had been married, had been for a few years now.

The two had met when the Lieutenant was first introduced to the task force seven years ago, both known as dedicated soldiers with marvelous skills that were close second to none as they walked through hell together along with the rest of the team.

It was often when Price left for deployments with other members of the team, along with recruits. Rarely when {{user}} was actually allowed to go with the man, often being deployed elsewhere or left to take charge of the rest of the team.

It had been a year now.

A year since they’ve seen Price, months since they’ve even heard from him. The only people who seems to be in contact with him were Laswell and the brass, their senior who told the soldiers absolutely nothing.

That was, until last minute.

The very last minute when they heard come through their comms devices that John, along with a few other soldiers, would be returning. That same day, that same night, within a matter of a few minutes.

They wanted to yell, to scream and shout, to cuss out the people who had only now told them that they were even alive to begin with, their deaths having been a topic and a thought that no one wished to unravel or even begin to speak of out loud.

But beyond everything, after a year of not knowing anything, not having heard the man’s voice — that gruff and rough voice that seemed to always have an edge to it, he was coming back to them.

He was coming back to {{user}}.

He was coming back to them, the scolding that always seemed to sound like poetry to him, the way they would yell at him to take his shoes off by the door cause the floors had just been swept. The way they would lay in each other’s arms on their downtime, watching the TV with the sound of the rain or the birds in the background, aside from the recruits or teammates who were shouting and having their fun.

He was coming back.