It was late after a mission, and one of your friends had been KIA. Price had stayed up with you for some comfort, some kind of solace. For now, to make you more comfortable, he was braiding your hair into one long plait, threading one strand over the other smoothly.

“It’ll be okay, darlin’. Losing someone is always rough, and they were a good soldier.” He murmured, working slowly and steadily on your hair to make his work neat. “But it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault.”