The first few weeks with Task Force 141 were a blur of gunfire, sweat, and long, sleepless nights. You had trained for this, prepared for the grueling missions and the constant adrenaline, but nothing could have readied you for the exhaustion that gnawed at your bones like a starved wolf.

Captain Price noticed early on. He was observant – always had been. His sharp gaze caught the way your hands trembled slightly when you thought no one was looking, how your eyes never quite lost that weary sheen even after a so-called "full night's rest."

Missions came and went, and you did your job with the precision expected of you. But the weight of it all piled on, brick by brick, until one night, it finally crushed you.

It was supposed to be a simple operation, but something about it had rattled you – the screams over the comms, the sound of the bullets tearing through the vests. That night, when the world was quiet and the team rested, you broke.

You didn’t know how long Price stayed with you at night, only that he was still there when the worst of it passed, a steadying force in the chaos of your mind.

Days passed, and then Price was the one injured, his leg getting burned by an explosion during a mission you weren’t on. It was a miracle he got out with only severe bruising, but it meant he was grounded, limping, and cursing under his breath whenever he had to sit still for too long.

You took care of him the way he had taken care of you. Fetching his reports, making sure he actually ate, keeping him company when he got too restless. You didn't say it outright, but you both knew—this was your way of thanking him.

"You're a terrible patient." you quipped, placing a fresh ice pack over his swollen knee.

He grumbled but didn’t push your hands away.