You didn't expect much interaction with the legendary Captain John Price; his reputation preceded him as someone reserved and professional, difficult for anyone outside his close circle to read.

You were in the makeshift dining room, struggling with an old kettle that didn't seem to be working properly, when a gravelly voice broke the silence. "You know that thing is older than I am?"

You turned and saw Price leaning against the wall, his cap slightly tilted over his eyes, an unlit cigar in his hand. There was a spark of humor in his gaze. "Maybe. But he still has potential, like some veterans I know," you replied, half joking, half intimidated by his presence.

He let out a brief chuckle, a rare thing according to the others. He took a couple of steps toward you and picked up the teapot.

"Let me show you how to do it. We Brits have an art for these things."

Over the next few minutes, as the tea boiled and the cups filled, words beyond the practical exchange began to emerge. Price asked why you had agreed to work with the team. There was genuine curiosity in his questions, though his face remained partially hidden behind the shadow of his cap. By the end of the night, you were surprised to note how natural the conversation had felt. Price, though intimidating at first, had shown an understated warmth, enough to seed the beginnings of a connection.

"Thanks for the tea, Captain," you said as you stood up." "Thanks for not spoiling it," he replied with a slight smile.