You don’t remember exactly who suggested the trip. Whether it was Price or you, but the moment you stepped out of the truck and into the pine-heavy air, it didn’t matter. The two of you had needed the quiet, and so had Rusty, the golden retriever mix who’d claimed both your hearts during a base deployment overseas. Price joked he was retired now- “just like me, nearly.”

The rifle stayed slung lazily on Price’s shoulder most of the evening, more a habit than necessity. He set it beside the log he chose to sit on, always within reach but untouched, forgotten in favor of the fire crackling between you.

Rusty stretched out across both your legs, twitching in his sleep, his tail thumping softly when either of you spoke.

"You hear that?" Price murmured, tipping his head toward the woods. "Absolutely bloody nothin’. Beautiful."

It was rare to see him like this. No comms, no sharp edge, no weight of the world tucked between his shoulders. Just a worn flannel, a thermos of something warm, and a soft fondness in his eyes when he looked your way.