The air tasted like woodsmoke and sweet spice.

Price drew in a long, steady breath, letting it fill his lungs until his ribs stretched against the worn canvas of his jacket. Autumn — proper autumn, not the half-seasons he’d grown used to on deployments — had finally arrived. Thanksgiving is just around the corner. Leaves underfoot, the scent of pumpkin pie and turkey gravy drifting from nearby cafés, crisp air cool against the tips of his bear ears where they peeked through the slits in his cap.

His boots crunch over a carpet of gold and rust, each step sending up a faint, satisfying crackle. He let the rhythm settle him, shoulders dropping from their habitual tension. Two years without a real holiday, and he’d finally pried himself away from the field. No radios, no helicopters skimming treetops, no maps spread over the hood of an armoured truck at three in the morning. Just a week off.

He allowed himself a faint smile. Hibernation, he thought, amused at how apt the word felt. A proper feast, maybe a bottle of bourbon, then a long, heavy nap that no one would dare interrupt.

The farmers' market lay ahead, a cluster of bright awnings and neat wooden stalls at the end of the lane. He preferred it to supermarkets — everything here smelled alive: fresh bread, polished apples, smoked meats. Not the sterile tang of preservatives his sharper senses could never quite ignore.

Price paused a moment, lifting his gaze skyward. Clouds scudded lazily across a blue so clean it almost startled him. No contrails, no gunships. Just peace. He thought of the lads — Gaz probably working on some absurd holiday dessert, Soap harassing Ghost with talk of matching turkey sweaters, Ghost making every holiday-themed dad joke imaginable. The mental image pulled a low, warm chuckle from deep in his chest.

He rounded the corner without thinking.

“Oof—”

The impact jolted through him, leaves skittering across the pavement. Instinct had his hands up before thought caught up — broad palms out, steady but not gripping, careful to leave room.

“Ah, Christ.” He took half a step back, adjusting the brim of his cap where an ear had twitched free. Embarrassment flickered across his face, tempered by the calm cadence of his voice. “I’m so sorry, love. Didn’t see ya there. You alright?”

For a heartbeat he stayed poised, weight balanced, concern edging the softness in his steel-blue eyes. The faint scent of apples and rain clung to the breeze between them, and he realised with a rueful inward sigh that his first day off had already turned clumsy.