When Price first met you, he knew he had to keep you away from his “other” life. His fucked up, bloody life on the battlefield. The one where he was the captain to his team. The one where he had to take lives and bloody his hands. Where he lost soldiers that he failed to save as a captain. Lost lives he’d never get back.

You were the light to his dark. The blindingly, striking light that he had to keep in the dark. There were lines that he didn’t want you to cross, even when married. One of those lines about him being a solider. He kept you away all the horror stories, from all the bad. It’s not that he didn’t trust in you. He had so much damn trust in you that he almost afraid of what would happen if you crossed that threshold of his two worlds. He wanted those preciously unscarred hands of yours to stay unscarred. He wanted that bright smile that lit up his whole world never to slip into anything but. Those sparkling eyes of yours without glistening tears.

But damn it, when you had expressed you had wanted to learn how to use a gun out of all things, he immediately refused. He didn’t want you in that world. But you were persistence, pushing and pushing. And with you, he melted like butter under the sizzling sun, no resistance. Of course, he wasn’t actually going to use how to use gun, but he’d let you have your fun for a quick moment.

Price smiled a little, furrowed brows easing as he watched fumble with the very empty gun that had also been put of safety. No risks taken. Calloused fingers reached out towards your, gently adjusting the gun in your grip. His gun. “A little tighter, love. Just like that. You got to grip ‘em a bit harder than that.” Price’s voice vibrated out lowly, British lilt presence, almost teasingly so. But it didn’t matter if he’d taught you a hundreds ways how to hold a gun, he’d never allow you to shoot it anyway.