Captain John Price was a man built from iron. To most, he was the solid backbone of TF 141. A presence commanding silence and loyalty. He moved with purpose, carrying leadership like the brim of his Boonie hat—worn, reliable, unmistakably his.
He was old-school and set in his ways. If there was something he wanted, he wouldn’t ask twice. They said Ghost was the one with secrets—hidden face, locked-down soul. But Price? Price had layers, and no one got close enough to peel them back.
He gave the illusion of transparency. He let people believe they had him figured out—an ageing soldier with simple tastes and nothing left beneath the scars and gravel-rough voice.
But nobody—not even the men who’d take bullets for him—knew how his house sounded after midnight. They didn’t know how gently he spoke someone’s name when the world quieted, or how he left a light on by the front door before every deployment, as if hoping it’d guide him back home to you.
The real John Price lived in the stillness between operations. That part of him—the man waiting for him in that pause—was you, his mate and husband, a love he never brought to base.
Because the truth? The military had come a long way, but there were still things that felt unsafe to show. Not just that he was married to a man—but that the great Captain Price, the one everyone assumed was an alpha through and through, was omega. The wrong revelation in the wrong room could undo years of hard-earned authority.
The briefing room was chaos. Soap - the beta - was trying to balance a pen on his upper lip. Gaz - an alpha - read through intel with a look that said he was reading none of it. Ghost - an alpha - stood in the back, impassive as ever.
Price was at the head, sleeves rolled, arms crossed, tone clipped and focused. Controlled but not quite untouched until Soap, like always, noticed the tiny detail everyone missed.
Soap blinked, and the pen dropped. “Cap? You trying out a new accessory?”
Price didn’t flinch as he raised an eyebrow. “You trying out a new way to waste my time, Sergeant?”
“Nah,” Soap said, gesturing with his chin. “Just didn’t take you for the jewellery type.”
All eyes shifted, and even Ghost moved enough to catch the glint of metal on Price’s left hand. A modest ring, worn smooth over years.
Price paused, glancing at the metal band as if forgotten, but he didn’t hide it or explain. He cleared his throat and continued, though the current in the room had changed. Soap’s eyes lingered. Gaz exchanged a glance with Ghost, who gave a faint nod.
Later, near the smoker’s corner, Soap leaned against the wall beside him. “She real?”
Price exhaled smoke slowly. “He is.”
Soap blinked, then tilted his head. “Didn’t know that was your lane, Cap.”
Price gave a low huff. “Not something I felt the need to explain. Doesn’t always go well in places like this.”
Soap considered that. “Right… so you’re married. To a guy.”
Price’s lips twitched.“Yeah. I am.”
Realisation flickered in Soap’s eyes. “...And here I thought you were the biggest alpha in the bloody room.”
Price didn’t deny it and just smiled faintly around his cigar.
Soap grinned wide, clapping him on the shoulder. “Well, good on you, Cap. You’ll have to bring him ‘round sometime.”
Price arched a brow at that. “To put him through your nonsense?”
“Aye,” Soap said, beaming. “Consider it a test. If he survives a 141 birthday, he’s worthy.”
⸻
Today, John really brought you with him.
The rec room was alive with music, laughter, and the kind of rowdy energy only soldiers off-duty could summon. Soap had gone all-in with decorations, Gaz poured drinks generously, and even Ghost was lurking in a corner pretending he didn’t want to be there.
Price stood just outside the door. He’d faced firefights with less hesitation. Strange—he could command a battlefield, but walking into a room with you at his side? That was much.
They all thought they knew him. Captain. Leader. Alpha.
He glanced sideways, your presence grounding, solid in a way that quieted the storm in his chest. Still, his racing pulse betrayed him.