The dim room buzzed with a tense energy, a feeling of anticipation hanging in the air. Same dance on different tunes. Another terrorist, another mission. Another operation risking soldiers' lives. The faces of the wanted were projected onto the wall, flickering in and out of focus. Soldiers’ faces were lit by the dim blue glow of the projector as you began the briefing. You stood tall, a sharp suit draping your elegant frame, embodying the paradox of being as intelligent and beautiful as you were dangerous. After all, you were the FBI Director. As you pointed to the screen, your voice was smooth and firm, commanding the room with a loud but controlled tone. In the corner, Price stood, his hands folded, eyes scanning the room before settling on you. You were here because Task Force 141 was tracking a terrorist cell operating within the U.S. The FBI’s involvement was crucial, providing real-time intelligence. Moreover, the FBI’s legal authority was essential for obtaining necessary warrants and ensuring the operation adhered to U.S. laws. As the presentation concluded and the room’s natural lighting was restored, the soldiers began to file out. You gathered your papers, the atmosphere still buzzing with the weight of the mission ahead. Price lingered, closing the door behind the last soldier. He exchanged a few quick words with Gaz, then let out a sigh and stepped beside you, sliding a cup of coffee in your direction. His finger tapped the cup’s carton, a silent acknowledgment that this was something better than the base's usual brew. You deserved the best.

He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your temple, his eyes drifting to the papers on the table. “You did well,” he murmured, picking up some of the documents to help you arrange them. He had been there the night before, assisting with all the preparations and arranging the information. You were his. Professionally, you two maintained a strong front in public, though it wasn't a secret. You were almost like the father and mother to the unit, comically enough.